grinninfoole

I feel about as creative as a turnip right now.

I have, for many years, thought about writing a book. It was something I wanted to do at least once in my life, and I have even daydreamed about making a living writing. So, the whole process of moving has, among other things, driven home the understanding that I won't accomplish any of my life goals if I don't actively make them happen, if I don't actually sit down and start doing them. This means taking time, and making time, for writing, and actually writing something. It's been very hard for me to start, though a dear friend from college gave me the good advice of setting a modest goal, say 500 words a day, and being satisfied with doing that. And, since April 30, I have made that my goal, and done all right.

Tonight, however, I really don't know what the hell to do. Everything I'm thinking of feels boring, so I'm loathe to write about any of them. This would be easier if I knew what story I am trying to tell, but I don't, so I am just trying to write about whatever comes to mind for now, and seeing where it takes me. The hope is that I'll wind up knowing what I'm doing.

Well, I'm going to try again, before I fall asleep. If it doesn't work tonight, I'll just do it tomorrow.