Some days my novel thinks we're best friends; we like to work together, stay up late gossiping about celebrities, and wake up excited to jot down new ideas for eternal greatness.

Some days we can't stand each other. Last night I destroyed an entire character for the fuck of it.

(I apologize, dear novel.)

On those bad days, I've decided to work on two other projects: the first is a collection of short stories, the second is a collection of micro fiction with each story written in eleven sentences or less.

I'm probably eighty percent done with both of them, which feels pretty neat. I'm thinking of selling them with cheap pricetags, depending on how many words they are.

Even if they suck, who's going to gripe about losing a bunch of stupid pennies?