These progress journals happened to catch my eye, while, yes, I was procrastinating, and it seems like something I should start. My writing has been on the hiatus the last few months, but as a dedicated writer, I should know better than let my story threads slide. Tangles form and plot lines skew. Details, once jewel bright, begin to tarnish and dim. A world I sought, fought to build is fading before my eyes because I lost my focus and determination. A heart valve replacement and a major, subsequent aortic clot put a damper on a lot of things, but my writing, which has long been my escape, shouldn't be among them. It has been weeks since I've pulled up my manuscripts. My fingers are aching to release the compressed backlog of ideas in my head. With any sort of luck this will tire my brain out enough that I might actually be able to sleep. A plain and simple fact I learned long ago: If I don't write at least every other day, I end up with nightmares. Putting the darkness into finite, tangible form gives me control over my dreams and ideas. And it is long past time for me to regain my control. The Traveller stands upon a crux, the battle lines are drawn and the factions in place. The end is within sight and so I lay down these words in black and white: Bella's tale will be completed before the first snow touches the ground. This is a promise to myself, a promise I desperately need to keep. Basically, it boils down to: I need to get my rump in gear. I have known these characters for ages. I owe it to them to make sure their story is told, and told well.