Today’s story may well be my last.
Not for lack of prompts. I have lots of prompts.
Not for lack of sales. I would do this even if my own mother never purchased a story.
It’s nothing you did or omitted. I promise.
It’s this fucking wrist. I did some damage to myself [NEVER SLEEP WITH ELASTIC ‘SOCK’ BRACER/BANDAGES ON, KIDDIES!] and I need to take a break from writing.
If you need me, I shall be going quietly insane because writing fucking hurts and I can’t not write.
You can help by paying money for my books. Yay.
O… someone give me some good fucking news, today. I need it.
My right wrist is starting to ache, and I need it to do my day job.
I need my day job.
I still need to get X-rayed and ultra-sounded to find out what, exactly, has gone wrong this time. But I also need to minimise the driving I do.