The Corgis were online reading blogs (who knew?) when they happened to scent the Procrastination Gnome™ hanging around Scott Oden. Being sympathetic beasties, and companions to faerie folk, they did what any red-blooded, short-legged dog would do.
They went outside for a rousing game of "Fetch".
Despite Maximus' "Point Me At 'Em" stance, one flip of the tennis ball changed his priorities. After all, chase and retrieval demands skill and concentration, the kind that hones abilities for Gnome hunting. Afterwards, the Corgi Brothers came in the house for a biscuit and a nap. Then another nap. They'll get on that Procrastination Gnome™ hunting right after supper. Well, maybe after another game of fetch, and another nap. You can't rush these things you know.
I'm also afraid I insisted the Corgis hunt down the Procrastination Gnome™ living in my own home before helping others. I suspect he has been holding late night brainstorming sessions with the Plot Gerbil™, because the wheels were spinning wildly, hence the three half-completed short stories I'm jumping between. One is set in 483BC, another in an urban fanasy world I never want to visit, and the third on some alternative plane of existence - but only if you hold your breath.
Luckily, just the 483BC story allowed the Research Gnome™, (cute but insidious little brother of the Procrastination Gnome™) to get his ink stained mitts on me. I successfully kept him away from my Amazon account (One Click was invented by a Gnome) and actually got the story half written before he pulled the alternative plane of existence idea out of.... an orifice.
My Ending Gnome™ is vacationing in parts unknown, so I'm forging ahead without her. If successful, Gnomes everywhere will cower in fear at the thought of writers doing something without them. As long as no one finds out where I hid the Muse, I think it will be okay.
If not, maybe I can distract everyone with a game of Fetch the Plot.