Life throws you a curve, and all you can do is make baseball-ade.

I was writing pretty steadily when I was unemployed, and it’s great to have a full-time job once again, but I haven’t done any creative writing in months. I miss that and I feel terrible about not sitting down and making the effort. I thought I’d try that today.

Except recently I upgraded my writin’ laptop to Windows 10 (I’d been running Win7 and avoided Win8 like the plague), and while it seems to make some thing simpler, it needs a lot of time to load, update, settle, reload, reupdate and get resettled, over and over again. Every time I think it’s done, my processing grinds to a halt and I see System is absorbing all my CPU, Memory and Disk space. And today my laptop threatened to not let me into it because I couldn’t remember my password. I’ve never had a password for this laptop, that’s what was throwing me off, but after enough wrong tries it announced it needed my MSN password. I looked that up and got in, averting disaster.

And now here I am at my (formerly) usual coffee shop, perched on my little stool, headphones blocking out the world… and I don’t have anything to say. It’s not writer’s block, where I have the story in mind and the words won’t come. It’s more like a large dinner plate with nothing on it and nothing cooking in the kitchen: just bare emptiness.

So I took this opportunity to plow through my social media (not a great idea, since I never know who’s going to post a huge picture of a tiny man crawling into an oversized vagina, or a pair of planetary buttocks descending upon a skyscraper, etc.) and check all my updates. Another GTS writer actually reached out to me on Twitter with questions about Smashwords. Unfortunately, that was three weeks ago, so I must have seemed incredibly rude. I answered her questions and explained my prolonged silence, I hope that was enough.

Now I’m updating my personal website, which no one ever goes to, writing a new News story, which no one will read. But that’s not why I’m writing giantess stories, after all. I’m not doing this for the fame, nor the money, nor the esteem within my community. Some people do actually know my name and bibliography, you know, and I need to nurture that.

No, I write giantess erotica because it’s burning inside me and I have to put it into words. I have to hastily scrawl these notes into my blank books, and then I have to flesh them out into larger stories that I post on GiantessWorld or upload to Smashwords. I have to. I have to develop these characters and shove them into orifices, and I have to describe the shudders and the fluids and the noises. I can’t imagine what would happen to me if I tried to keep all this smut contained within my frail human vessel. Nothing good, I’m sure.