Behold the author in the photo accompanying this post. See his furrowed brow. Look at his eyes. He looks scared, yes, but of what? Perhaps it’s just his standard Monday morning expression, the last traces of the Sunday night jitters having yet to clear his face. Or perhaps it’s the look of someone who knows that he is twenty-two posts behind in his quest to write every day in 2018.

The book he has tucked under his arm is called Mastery. He got it from a Christmas party Secret Santa over the weekend. It’s a telling detail, that book, for wasn’t that the author’s intent for this exercise? To become a master or some sort? A master storyteller or blogger. A master of his authorial voice perhaps. Or maybe he just wanted to log some of the mythical 10,000 hours that he’s heard so much about.

Whatever the reason, what is clear to him now at this late date in December is that, without intervention, he will fall short or his goal.

In the selfie he took for this post, he’s waiting for the Q. He mistakenly included a gentleman to his left also waiting for the train. It was a slip* but it won’t be corrected, much like the blog posts that will be coming this December, dear reader. Oh yes, the author pictured will be doubling his efforts and, most likely, halving his quality.

So, dear reader, buckle up. Prepare yourself for mundane accounts of daily activity, free writing, listicles that make no sense, anything that will eat up word count. The hapless author pictured above started this and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t finish it.