Time to write.

So... I've been working away. Actual work. And reading constantly.

And writing. In my head. All the time.

I have this whole stack of notebooks filled with story notes, and dialogue, and completed stories. They just sit there though. Somehow, I keep telling myself that they're not complete. I want to work them into something larger. I want them to be epic and moving novels. I want them to somehow work their way in to a whole cohesive work while I am not looking.

The truth of these things is that they aren't all going to be that way. There is always more editing to do. There is always a better way to put something. Some little niggling detail that is just still wrong.

Some of these pieces may someday work their way into a larger narrative. Some of them are finished. It seems like a good idea to admit that to myself.

So, I am gathering a set of fics together. I am going to write them out one last time. Type them up, then... wait one week,

If I have nothing to add at the end of that week... up they go.

It's nerve wracking. Imagining people reading your work. The first 10 thousand hits I got on my recipes was dumbfounding. The next 10 thousand... incredible. But recipes are not the seat of my soul. Not like these characters are.

 I do not imagine justice. I only hope to do them tribute.