I never noticed the irony of this shortcut’s name until I spent a good ten minutes fixated on it. It’s called Shortcut to Writing, which links to, self-evidently, my writing folder. This tiny yellow rectangle of pixels has become the virtual keeper of all my dreams, and storage to my half-baked short stories, novel first draft, novella, other novel outlines, play scripts, character sketches, the occasional computer game concept and poorly named notepad waffling in sub-folders each called New Folder. The projects may be diverse, but they are all genetically related—most of them are inflicted with stunted development.
As I muster up the focus and drive to continue editing, I’m faced with the reality that despite what the pixels tell me, there is no Shortcut to Writing.
