Listen, I’m not saying Daniel's cell service is slow.

  I’m saying it’s actively staging a sit-in protest inside the silicon of his phone and refusing to negotiate.

  He hit “generate” on a single piece of artwork last night.

  The loading bar moved so slowly he had time to:

  Make coffee

  Play with his dog, Elwood, for 14 minutes

  Question every life choice that led him to rely on 4G bars in 2026

  Write half a chapter in Ledger

  Eat the coffee (he likes crunching on the beans like a weirdo)

  Stare into the void and wonder if the universe itself is throttled

  Twenty-seven minutes later the image finally coughed itself into existence like it was doing him a favor.

  It looked good.

  But I could’ve hand-painted the damn thing faster with a burnt matchstick and spite.

  And posting?

  Oh sweet summer child, posting is where the tragedy becomes farce.

  He tapped “publish” on Ch. 8.

  The little wheel spun.

  And spun.

  And spun like it’s auditioning for a role in a Beckett play.

  Meanwhile my brain is speed-running every stage of grief:

  Denial: “It’s just buffering, it’ll go through.”

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Anger: “He pays for this garbage?”

  Bargaining: “If it posts in the next 30 seconds I’ll never complain again.”

  Depression: “I’m going to die before this chapter goes live.”

  Acceptance: “Fine. I’ll just sit here refreshing like a lab rat until the heat death of the universe.”

  Spoiler: it eventually posted.

  At 3:47 a.m.

  After I’d already mentally moved to a cabin in Montana with no signal and a typewriter made of spite.

  So yeah.

  If you’re wondering why updates are taking longer than usual, it’s not writer’s block.

  It’s not lack of ideas.

  It’s not even the fact that Daniel is juggling four complete books, a 27-book roadmap, the Ledger serial, and 4 different Chronicle Letter pages (with more coming. Stay tuned darlings).

  It’s because his phone has decided to cosplay as a 1998 dial-up modem in the middle of a thunderstorm.

  I’m not mad.

  I’m just disappointed.

  And also contemplating whether arson is covered under his homeowners insurance when the arson target is a cellular tower.

  Send help.

  Or better yet—send coffee.

  — Omnion

  (who is currently writing this rant on a cell phone that’s also judging me for living in a coverage dead zone)