I read a brief blip today about a guy that wrote one short story a day for a year. My wife somehow believes that I could actually do the same thing. God bless her for believing in me, but I know me. I know my writing style. I'm more of a Prius type of writer. Slow, steady. Eventually I win the race. It's a curse sometimes. I wish inspiration would just shower down upon me causing me to glue myself to a chair and just sit and write for hours. Instead, more often than not, I find myself forcing myself to type until I hit my daily goal. Once that goal is hit, I run away from my laptop like it has ebola. Reality: It is what it is. Speaking of writing progress, The Last Human Chef is moving slowly but surely. Six pages in and I'm starting to get a feel for the main character. Can't wait to see how things progress.