What a long day this has been. A full day of work, an incredibly long evening, and now I, quite honestly, find myself struggling to make ends meet. Like nearly everyone in the world right now, I'm one of the many people who find themselves full of debt and lacking in the cash to pay it off. I've got my own video game development studio and sure, the company is doing fantastic – we've got projects coming in, great projects in production and a simply unbeatable team. But we simply aren't making any money yet. The company is new, and needs time to grow.
So this left me in a rather uncomfortable spot. Not like the back of a Volkswagen (3 points to anyone who gets the reference)... more like the back of a rusted out tank - bulky and awkward.
As I sat there pondering over my impending financial doom, I heard this odd little voice.
"Youse be one of 'dem cree-eh-teev types, though!"
After making sure no one had spiked my iced tea, I realized this was my conscience talking. I'm not sure why it was attempting to give me ideas - usually it would just warn me why not to pee in the cat's litter box, or why giving my girlfriend Peggle would be a bad idea (not because it's a bad game, more because she would never leave the house again because... well, let's face it. Peggle is “The Second Coming” awesome.)
Anyway... there I was talking to my conscience, who apparently has a bit of hick in him.
“Youse jus' gunna sit there when you be reckonin' all these fiiiine ideas?”
At this point my cats were staring at me a bit stranger than usual, most likely because I simply couldn't resist and had to ask it what it was talking about.
“A-yup, dat's me.”
“O... okay. Good. Um.... what... what exactly are you talking about (and why do you sound like you're from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre)?”
“Welp, youse got alll these ideas floatin' around in yer thick as lead skull, and youse just gonna sit there and mope 'cause yer biz-er-ness ain't hitting the multi-billions in a coupla monthes!”
“.... okay. And your point is?”
“Why dun you go and make a bunch-a things with them there ideas all quick-like?”
An odd proposition, especially coming from an imaginary figure. Though the thought certainly intrigued me.
“So... create many small ideas?”
“Like an idea a day...”
“Yu... wait, a day?”
“Perhaps an iPhone app a day.”
“Wait there now, hillbilly...”
“For 30 days.”
“..... okay, now ya jus' aren't listening to me and yer lettin' the crazy set in.”
“An app a day – for 30 days! That's it!”
I stand tall, nearly spilling iced tea everywhere and proclaim,
“I shall create an Apple iPhone App and submit it to Apple for approval by 11:59pm, every day, for the next 30 days.”
The cats stared blankly, my girlfriend gained a strange grin, and my conscience simply said,
“Boy, youse be crazier than a bag of strudel. I'm outta here.”
“On your way out, could you let my sanity know he can take a 31 day vacation?”
“I'm already outta here, duuude.”
I then wondered why my sanity had a surfer accent, but alas – it was too late. The madness had taken over, both my conscience and my sanity had fled for the hills, and the clocked ticked down on Day 0 until midnight, where the first day of “An App a Day” would begin.
I'm going to need a lot of coffee.