I believe in simple goals. So my goal at the moment is: Write fiction. Just write the stuff. Good, bad, in between, write fiction. Regularly. Without those frequent multi-week or multi-month gaps. Oh, and stop posting it all to my blog. Because there are some bits that I have written that I rather wish I could polish up an submit as flash fiction, but I can’t, because I posted them. I’m not actually sorry that I posted them, because getting them out there and exposed to possible readers was a step that I needed, a step on the way to creating a mindset that would allow me to eventually submit stories to proper periodicals. But now that that crutch has gotten me where I wanted to go, it’s time to drop the crutch. Write fiction. So I sat myself down to write some. Five hundred words. Anybody can write five hundred words, right? And I wrote about an author, and the author told me (well, the author told the nameless other character in the scene) that he sits down to write every single day for the same reason that a jogger keeps on running in place when the jogger reaches a red light. He left me to figure out exactly what that means, but he explained that, also, if he forces himself to write at regular intervals, to write whether he's inspired or not inspired or working on something or not working on something, he's motivated to be inspired and working on something. Because if you have to sit down and write either way, the writing is a lot more fun if you're working toward something. If you’re the lazy sort and you let yourself get out of writing if you’re not inspired, then you’re motivated to be not-inspired. If you don’t let yourself out of the writing either way, then you’re motivated to be inspired. He took about 190 words to say that, and then he went on to sip his coffee, sweetened with sugar cubes, and why does he use sugar cubes? So I wrote about a passive-aggressive guest who refused to tell her hostess what she wanted to drink, because she "didn't want to be any trouble". She took another 190 words or so to drive her hostess quite out of her mind. Then two people in the middle of packing to move house talked past each other about where the rest of the rolls of tape were. Then a woman tried to do things despite imagining what her disapproving passive-aggressive mother would say. That took me to a little over 600 words. Total. The author in my head is right that this would be a lot more fun if I could dredge up some inspiration.