It probably doesn’t look good for any writer to head to the monthly blog space to announce that he has several projects he’s nearly finished with, but polished, developed stories do not flow from disorganized minds any more than healthy, satisfying meals emerge from kitchens that look like disaster zones. My old, gray-haired father, the wacky inventor, occasionally creates the most clever constructs, but they emerge from a basement that looks like a landfill.

Notable events that happened in May largely happened out of my hands. Khaki put the cheerful catastrophe story “Weasels of the Apocalypse” on “The Voice of Dog,” hitting all the right notes. The story landed in two parts, and involved a suspicious melon and an exciting potato.

The undisciplined mind goes where it’s comfortable. If the writing hits a wall, why distress myself by trying to tear down the wall when I could just go write something else and be comfortable again? May’s result: four stories begun, none finished. Of course, it could just mean the story isn’t working, but it’s too early in development to tell. Generally, I haven’t put in the hard work yet; that’s the true test.

And for some reason there are books all over the house with bookmarks on or near page 107 that I never get around to finishing.

I’m going to try to dedicate June to just jotting the occasional impulse onto a whiteboard and trying to harvest the seeds planted in May. But first, I have to finish this idea I had for “Roadhouse Boys.” And then I should look at that short story I was writing the other day. But there’s that video I need to post to my YouTube channel. And should I start using that Patreon for something…?