RAWK, more or less

I don't really know what I'm doing.  I mean, that's a fair accusation to throw at myself in general but, more specifically, I don't know what I'm doing here.  What exactly do I hope to this be? A promise to myself to write more, really. To get back in the saddle so to speak. The last time I sat in front of a laptop and typed something up that wasn't for work or to apply for a job or to successfully name all of the countries of the world on Sporcle in fifteen minutes -- yeah, I'm that guy -- was during lockdown when I challenged myself to write a novel within a month. I achieved the feat but no-one will ever see the finished article. Many moons ago, when I was a fledgling student at University of [redacted], I remember hearing a talk from a writer who, upon telling us about his first 'proper novel', regaled us with the story of his first 'not-so-proper novel' which sat at the bottom of a drawer in a long forgotten writing desk gathering dust ...