Not Even Everything
The novel is coming along. Slowly, as it seems, but I’m having fun. I can’t just finish the chapter; I like the molding, the clay, making it right. I write scenes, and wait, and rewrite them, and repeat it, until it vaguely resembles something I’m looking for. Then I rewrite it and rewrite it again. I don’t know when I’ll be done, but I think I’ll like the book when I am.
Actually, I printed out the novel. Watched as the laserjet cursed and screamed; as a novel was born into the world. A vast white cliff of story. A year of my life and mind, made whole.
French Toast is picking up steam. Epic (our first and extremely terrific game) is about to hit it’s next development cycle. More art, more cards, more mechanics, more thinking, and photoshopping, and redoing.
This next cycle is going to have a drastic effect on the game though. It’s so important that I haven’t even played a round of cards since I thought of it…it wouldn’t be right. The game feels unfinished now.
French Toast’s next game is a hound at the door, howling, and begging to come in.
…to eat up all my time and maul me.