dear mahal,

it’s 4:04am

have you ever seen groundhog day?

it’s this horror film of some asshole who wakes up and has to relive the same day over and over again until he learns something. 

I decided that I would chase my artistic dreams in 2014, and for a decade i’ve been cursed to suffer the commencement of this decision every day because i’m a habitual procrastinator allergic to follow through.

each day, I pray for skeletons in my closet and monsters under my bed—instead I have the aborted husks of numerous opening paragraphs spilling from the cracks of my closet door, and stacks of pristine moleskins and unread books beneath my bed frame. 

most days I regard my backlog with shame. there are people who have far less opportunity than me, and they do so much more. 

there’s a petty disgust which saturates the pit of my stomach when I see a colleague finish something. my initial instinct is to scrutinize their work in bad faith—compare and demean their finished project to hollow shells of mere ideas that I claim mine: 

“how mid,” I would often think. “you should be like me—wait till it’s ready—”

but deep down I knew there is a courage required to let something leave the utopia that is the mind. There is a faith in oneself necessary to let that something be dirtied by the process of becoming, and enter into the tangible world awkward in appearance and perhaps lame in gait. weak men like me scorn these imperfect creatures. take issue with their blemishes. 

and that lack of courage is why writers like me are stuck in here in our time loop; like bill murray’s character, we will remain until we learn some fucking humility. 

the amount of stories i’d have already told had i just gotten over myself. 

but this is the price of inaction. of perfection’s pride. 

the selfishness, and arrogance, that is required to hold on to the gifts of your imagination—not only are you robbed of your outlet, but the world is robbed of our voice. 

So this is why I’ve started this substack. 

i’ve decided that i’m no longer satisfied with being the critical reprobate that longs from afar. to have a thin portfolio and let the stories wither and wane. 

i’m going to keep this log and finish all the projects stuck in my notebook limbo. they’ve waited long enough in idealistic perfection, and now it’s time to let them out and become blemished. let them into reality and be what they will be to the people that will keep them. 

and because I keep claiming to be a fantasy writer, i’m going to start off with something a bit easier to get the momentum going. 

a themed collection i’ve been calling “twelve”.

it’s stories based on the zodiac signs, as well as the months in the year. 

i’m also going to be calling these projects “quests” because I can and it makes the undertaking sound epic. 

at the start of this entry, I was going to keep the stories hidden, and only write entries about them for accountability, but it’s been a while since i’ve written substantially, and frankly, i’ve tried this already. 

i’m someone that will talk themselves out of responsibility, and i’ve been better at this than actually writing. 

so now i’m changing it up; if i’m going to be stuck living in this loop, i’m at least changing how I handle the day (just like bill did).

I am going to stop lying to myself, and now make the pact with you:

by 2027, I will finish my backlog of started, but abandoned literary projects (which, again, i’m calling quests from here on out).

• the poetry collection (3 poems done)
• the short story collection
• the novel about zombies (conceptual phase)
• the novel about death (1 chapter done)
• the novel about a monk and a squid (1 notebook in)
• the novella about the robot (one chapter in)
• I must finish reading at least 20 books I already own.

some rules to help emphasize the completion of quests:

• I can only work on one project at a time
• I must work on the project every day.
• every day, I must publish a blog post about my progress by stating what I worked on, the word count or progression marker noted.
• every blog post is going to be scheduled for midnight every day, and whatever I write, is immortalized. 
• for the reading, I must write a small report on the book. 
• for the poetry project, I must finish the first draft of one poem every week. 
• if I start a poem, but realize it doesn’t fit within the collection, I must finish it regardless.
• for the prose projects, I must write at least 500 words into it every day. 

I keep introducing myself as a writer, yet I do not write. 

the goal for this year is to change that. 

I know that normally you start something like this in january, but I’m also always late to things. Perhaps one day i’ll work on that, but let’s just take it one step at a time. 

to seeing tomorrow for once.

cheers,

hario lagrito

thursday, march 19, 2026

sip studios