WRITING PLANS: A REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.

No, this post isn't about future plans.

   This post is about plans that brewed for years, mwuah-ha-ha, insert Top Secret Volcano Base here...

   I typed that aloud, didn't I? Oops.

   Yes, I have loads of unfinished business to stamp DONE. Along the way, I set up other things. Damn it, can I just type things once without accidentally typing thongs...

   Setting up other thongs is a different story.

   Elusive ends are in sight. This project, that tale, those plans. And that saga is merely the saga on this blog. I blog elsewhere as other writers, peddling products that don't quite fit in this cosmic shoebox.

   My plans for this blog include...shoehorning stuff in here so that stuff does fit in here.

   If plans go according to plan, then I'll be doing collaborations with all kinds of people and one or two vast robot armies. (There may have been a casual reference to a secret base earlier, but I think we got away with it.)

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One of my schemes involves a collaboration with Melissa C. Water...

Let's be politically correct about this...there will be lesbian cow-fucking. There's no fucking way to get around talking about the swearier fucking version of Tourette Syndrome, bitches. Fucking deal with it - I'm going to, Mr Frodofuck.

   If you found that offensive, hell, you can fuck the fuck off, Pluto.

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Some of these collaborations stem from chats with my first author contact on the internet, K. Woodward. Her earlier disappearance (by time machine) and her return kicked off the whole conversation that put collaborations to the fore.

   If she returns from her second time travel trip in good order, she should also pop up in my collaborative work. One day, we'll do a radio show.

   "We present The K. Woodward Mystery Hour, brought to you by Proliferated Coal Products: sending coal everywhere."

   (I might possibly have let fly the news that she travels through time to research her stories. Don't think anyone noticed the slip-up, though.)

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And there are other collaborators, too secret to mention. This stuffed bear, for example.

I've had to hide the poor bastard's identity in a grainy photo. He didn't want his family to learn of his encounter with novelist and potty-mouthed stand-up Joy Eileen.

   Something tells me that's going to be the rudest collaboration on the list. Or I could work with Joy, instead.

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There are other people, vast robot armies, and alien beings from worlds unknown...but we'll reach them in good order. If we ever reach them.

   Over the weekend, putting this blog post together, I had a reversal of plans and things weren't looking good. Then, as the weekend crumbled to dust, I had a reversal of reversal of plans. So the whole show might be back on again.

   This blog post was about plans laid down, not plans I have. I don't set out to be cryptic or mysterious, though I've been told I am all three.