I have once again fallen down the rabbit hole and am hanging here by my fingers waiting for someone to come along and help me out. Now we all know that someone getting me out of the damn thing isn't going to happen. After all I got myself into this mess and I'm going to have to be the one to get me out.
You see when I step off into a story I'm never really sure where it might lead. I start out with a perfectly good idea and have a fairly good idea of where it will take me. Is that what happens? Hell no. I end up on what is the equivalent of the Yellow Brick Road and you can bet I'm going to find some place where a sudden sink hole will open up and down I go again. Really.
Now I'm working on a short story, yeah that's what I said, that wants to turn into the epic novel over 2000 pages long. Come on Martin just get to it please. Die or kill or maim or do whatever the hell you're suppose to already. You're getting on my last damn nerve. Hell you're not even supposed to have that much to say in all this remember.
I don't know why I'm even talking to the ass. Have you women ever known a man to listen? You would think that a fictional character would have better sense than to argue with the person who invented him but no. Like all men he is a pain in the ass. He wants to pick everything a part and go over all the evidence and try to dig up more. I guess that's what I get for making him a cop. Maybe I should switch his profession and make him a computer geek but then all he would want to do is sit in front of his laptop and surf the flipping web.
Look all this guy really needs to do is go out to the woods confront the spooky thing. Then he is supposed to nearly get killed by the bad whatever, no I'm not telling, die, crawl off into the woods ranting like a lunatic, or get up and go home. I don't care which it is just do one of the four please.
We do remember I am crazy so what else can be said. Right now I may just pull out my imaginary gun and blow a hole in my imaginary hero/fall guy and be done with it.