There’s been silence here.

Not the kind born of emptiness—but of… diversion.

The writing hasn’t stopped exactly. It’s just been simmering on a back burner, quiet and patient, while I stirred something else into being.

A strange little app.

A focus timer.

A writing companion.

A visual meditation on passing time.

It started as an experiment:

“What if a timer could feel like a poem?”

No ticks. No tock.

Just a block of time with a name, a colour, and a direction to burn.

If that’s too distracting? I can minimise it, and it will talk to me.

I wasn’t building productivity software—gods, no.

There are ten thousand of those, and I don’t know a soul who uses them to any real advantage.

I was building a ritual.

First, for myself.

I am my first user.

And as of this morning? The software is usable.

A container for effort.

A tiny altar to your next 500 words.

Something to help me keep focus, and track that progress in a way my brain finds delicious.

(That tasty, tasty dopamine.)

Yes, in the process, I’ve written less.

Because making Drapht stole the same part of me that writes fiction:

The part that notices pacing.

The part that obsesses over flow.

The part that needs something to feel right before it can be called done.

---

I’m back.

Back to writing.

Back to the stories that chew holes in my sleep.

Right now?

Let’s just say there are some Rock-Hard reasons that the next book will be published under a pseudonym.

I’ll talk more about Drapht soon—what it is, where it’s going, and how I hope it might help other writers burn their time beautifully.

For now?

Know this:

The words are still here.

Still mine.

Still coming.

Sometimes? They arrive wrapped in code.