The Newest Rabid Plotbunny in My Brain

One of the best problems in the world to have is a proliferation of plotbunnies. I would not change this problem for anything, but it is a problem. Because while you're working and plotting on one bun, snipping and floofing and making sure he doesn't catch his chonk in the bug zapper, three more hop up, plop onto your foot, and gaze hopefully at you, as if to say, "Me next, Mama." And you'd like to tell them to fuck right off, there's no room at the inn, so sorry, but they're so sweet and trusting that you can't. So you sigh and pick them up and find more room in the hutch. And there you are with three more mouths to feed and just as little time to do it.

Case in point: Right now, I've got Gordonbun in the styling chair, Dowdbun warming up in the dressing room, flexing his puny, AbLounge muscles, and Sheldonbun wanting a word or six thousand, if you please. Plus, nine thousand other fics in various stages of development, some of which were conceived years ago.

( The Newest Rabid Plotbunny in My Brain )

See? Do you see why I have no time for this?