It’s January 1st. The time when the Warhammer community collectively pretends they’re going to get their hobby life together.

You’ve seen the posts. “New Year, New Army!” people declare, as if adding another faction to the pile is somehow a fresh start. “Slay the Grey!” others cry, vowing to paint their shameful backlog of grey plastic before buying anything new.

Both of these are coward moves.

You know what’s harder than painting grey plastic? Having grey plastic to paint in the first place. You can’t slay the grey if the grey is still on the sprue, trapped in shrink wrap, or—and I’m speaking from experience here—still in the shipping box you never opened.

The Confession

I have over 500 unbuilt miniatures.

Five. Hundred.

Let that number sit with you for a moment. That’s not a hobby backlog. That’s a plastic pension fund. That’s a retirement plan denominated in polystyrene. If the global economy collapses, I could theoretically barter my way through the apocalypse with nothing but Skaven sprues and regret.

These aren’t all impulse buys, either. Some of them made sense at the time. Warhammer Quest boxes purchased with genuine intentions. Blood Bowl teams I was definitely going to paint for a league that definitely was going to happen. Age of Sigmar starter sets that were such a good deal I couldn’t not buy them.

And 40K. So much 40K. Armies I started and abandoned. Kill Teams I never killed with. A Horus Heresy box that has been sitting unopened so long it’s technically a historical artifact from the Horus Heresy. ^{sadly I don’t own any Horus Heresy boxes but this just sounded good}

The Reflection

How does this happen?

It’s easy to blame Games Workshop’s predatory release schedule, and I will, because it’s satisfying. They announce beautiful new models faster than any human could reasonably assemble them. This is by design. They are plastic drug dealers and we are all addicts.

But that’s only part of it.

The real truth—the uncomfortable one—is that buying miniatures feels like progress. You see a cool model, you imagine the finished product, and your brain goes “yes, we are doing hobby.” Then the box arrives, you put it on the shelf, and somehow that also feels like progress. You own the thing now. The hobby is happening. The project exists.

Except it doesn’t. The project isn’t the box. The project is the building and the painting and the playing. Everything else is just… storage.

I have been storing projects for years.

The Challenge: Do The Sprue

So here’s my New Year’s resolution, and I’m putting it in writing so I can’t pretend I didn’t say it:

Do The Sprue.

Not Slay the Grey—I’ll worry about paint when I have models to paint. Right now, the problem is more fundamental. I need to get these little plastic bastards off their sprues and onto bases.

Here’s the plan:

1. Warhammer Quest — Start small. Finish the boxes I bought for dungeon crawling. These are self-contained projects with clear endpoints.

2. Blood Bowl — Move into teams. Each one is manageable: 12-16 models, unified theme, immediate use case (getting demolished by someone else’s Halflings). Oh and the newest season box as well…

3. Age of Sigmar — The medium stuff. Actual army building. Probably focus on one faction and try not to get distracted by whatever shiny new battletome drops in March. Mostly Skaven, Stormcast, and Sky Dwarfs

4. 40K — The mountain. The big one. By the time I get here, either I’ll have built unstoppable momentum or I’ll have given up entirely. There is no middle ground. Sprue-dia Stands!!!

The Rule

And because I know myself, I need a rule:

New miniatures can only come in once the same number are built.

Want that new Blood Bowl team? Build twelve models first. Eyeing the next Age of Sigmar release? Better get clipping. This isn’t a buying ban—I’m not a monster—but it’s friction. It’s making the easy thing (buying) require the hard thing (building) first.

Will this work? Unclear. I have the attention span of a caffeinated squirrel and Games Workshop has professional psychologists designing their release schedule.

But I’m going to try.

The Invitation

If you’re looking at your own pile of shame—your own plastic pension fund—consider joining me. Do The Sprue. Slay the Grey later. Get the damn things built first.

And if you see me posting about a new purchase before I’ve earned it?

Call me out. I deserve it.

Here’s to a year of actually assembling things. Or at least making a dent.