by Brian Mullen
I come up with ideas faster than I can write their stories. While this is undoubtedly a blessing in the long-term, in the here and now, I suffer from guilt. They sit in their respective manilla folders, shoved in a plastic filing case, and they stare at me. "When are you going to write about me?" they cry. "I'd make a great novel, wouldn't I?"
"Yes, you would," I think, "but I just don't have the time to dedicate to you just now. I've got to work on this other story first."
"That's what you said two stories ago." And that's the truth. The list of my projects gets larger and larger but my time just seems to get consumed in too many other things.
Last month, while taking a quick lunch-time walking break at work, I thought of a scenario for a short story mystery. Ideas just kept popping into my mind all day and, when I got home, I cranked out a first draft of the first "chapter". I passed it to my critique group and some friends and family over Christmas. Earlier today my mom called. "When do I get to read the next chapter?"
"I, uh, haven't written it yet."
"Well, get to it. I'm intrigued and want to read more."
But I'm in the middle of a project. A very long project but my interest is high and I'm trying to stay focused on it. But I want to know how that story will play out too. "What about us?" cry the files.
I just need a little more time.