It's hard to believe that I've been visiting DA at least once a week for the past decade, saying to myself, "Self: you really need to get back into writing. And if you aren't writing the Great American Novel, then at least work on your fetish novel, 'Katie Did'!" There really are another 16 chapters written -- they're messy and need some clean-up, but that's not that big a chore. But my notes on how the story continues from there and how it eventually ends... they're gone. They were lost among moves into and out of seven apartments in three states, one divorce, two broken relationships, four jobs, five or six new computers, two hurricanes, and a pandemic. In other words: the twenty-teens. I've spent a lot of time during this COVID-19 quarantine thinking about how to finish the "Katie Did" novel, finally realizing that I can't. I'm not the same person I was when I started it ten years ago. Reading it brings up strange feelings of deja vu and vuja de*, like: I sort of remember writing

I've posted two chapters of my weight-gain "novel" over the past couple of days, after years of being a member. I'm not really sure why now, but I'm glad I did. I've been working on this "novel" for at least 3 years, putting it down and picking it up every once in a while. (I'm putting "novel" in quotes, because I'm not sure if it's really long enough to be a novel... yet. It's about 55,000 words so far, but that's really at the low end of the usual length for a novel, which usually runs from 60,000-100,000 words.) Anyway, I'm hoping the act of finally posting chapters is enough of a kick in the ass for me so I am motivated to actually finish