Nothing.
Nothing physical anyway.
Every so often.. well, actually, very often, I write in my head. I compose and compile and compartmentalize. It's just a matter of getting it down.
But I don't get it down.
I am not down with getting it down.
I know it is bad when I procrastinate more on writing than I do on cleaning. In fact, I have been organizing my home more to avoid sitting down and making a commitment to a short story, a chapter.. hell, even a blog entry.
And therein lies the rub. Ish.
I have so many options, I can't decide on which one. I can't determine to which voice I should listen, and then give its own new voice.
It's the same way with too many choices on a menu.
No matter how hungry I am, if there are too many options, I have seen myself just leave.
And with writing, I will do the mindless equivalent ; sometimes I just play Candy Crush.
Or I used to play Candy Crush. Until I found out how much they track their players and it freaked me out and I deleted the game.
But I digress.
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| How my mind works. (It is also my habit to edit photo's I've taken so as to avoid writing. | ) |
The point is no one's voice is being heard. Outside of my head, that is.
Oh I hear them. I hear them plenty. I see them as well.
They stare at me, speaking with their eyes
I am like the kid in the sixth sense who sees dead people.
Only I see fully formed unborn people, or pieces of people all stitched together to make a whole new one. I see these vehicles for stories and situations that need to come out and yet they sit, like a car idling in the garage.
It makes me want to go to sleep.
