I should be typing on my story, but I’ve bogged down. I have emotional drivel (not the good type of emotional, but the angry, righteous, think Chuck Palahniuk without the indignation or clever turn of phrases, emotional) and the bones of a story, but not enough meat or muscle. I know musing about it won’t help me put words down, but I don’t know where to go with the story, so I figured I should write at least something on this glorious day. It’s another warm sunny day in Seattle. I can barely remember the bad weather we had in the winter. With Spring comes all sorts of yummy smells, particularly that first day of summer smell that only occurs in the Spring. It’s like when warm air encounters cold air, it generates a smell.
Gobs. Distraction sucked me in, and this is after I loaded up on yummy caffeine in the hopes of focusing on my writing project. Did I mention distraction set in yet again? It has and it is painful. So very painful. I’ll find something to talk about soon enough. For now, random thoughts and random words. I let my eyes lose focus and my mind float in the miasma of the world around me. There’s not much here. The last and final grape. Cold shiny chairs. Small words that say something about the pens. Speaker in seats surrounded by the green glowing signs of the righteous—I always return to righteousness, as in the righteous indignation of my people, as if I could wrap myself in their woolen warm. Agh. I need to start thinking and stop pontificating and pretending to think. This is an exercise in futility motivated by, I don’t know by what because I’m just not thinking. This is too funny (and painful).
I was hoping the plot lines in my latest story would come together. I had the idea and I even found a voice, but I haven’t been able to get past the simple idea and the overly clever voice. In some of my other stories, the plot (and perhaps story) hits me while wandering and thinking about what I should be saying. Since I started a few days ago, I’ve been hoping the brick of brilliance would strike me. No matter how many ladders I walk in, the brick refuses to fall. Alas is my fate. So many consternations, so little writing. At least I’m pretending…unlike certain other people, who hide behind work projects and excuses, such as the “too busy to think” and “I’m thinking, stop pressuring me, I’m thinking.” (It’s so much easier to make fun of others than to get off my own lazy ass.)
Okay. This is long enough to separate my last two doodles. I wish I could find the motivation to write as long as I spent doodling my fishies picture. Oh well. As soon as I’m struck by inspiration, I guess.