Bruv, not that. Get your mind out of the gutter, you filthy pig.
I mean a literal train.
My brain is stuck in work mode and I can’t get it unstuck. It wants to do business development deals and rearrange spreadsheets, not write fiction, so I’ve no choice but to take drastic measures.
AKA: Train. Trip.
Up to our Seattle office, maybe. Hop on a train. Write. Write some more. Have a drink. Write more. Doze off. Write some more. You get the gist. Eventually, arrive in Portland, pick up a colleague, and continue on to our Seattle office. Write more.
I can’t let Degenerate slip into 2022. It’s a matter of pride now–what little remains. And as I’ve stated repeatedly, last chapter and all that. But for real, though, last chapter. It should be easy breezy to finish, no? Mayyybe. This is a weird novel, ya’ll, and it’s only getting weirder.