I remember when I used to get these wild and crazy ideas for my writing projects. Everywhere I went, my mind was constantly running through the people around me and how I could incorporate them into my characters. Or the situations I managed to get myself into and how it would relate the the piece I was working on. It was a mash up of my life. What I wished it were and wasn’t. What I wanted my life to be and what I didn’t.
I was the most creative back when I was getting myself into trouble (and causing my mother to spend a ridiculous amount of money to fix it). There should be no need for a disaster or terrible life circumstance to get things flowing!
So here I am staring at a blank page. The only thing I can manage to think of is him. Should I? Shouldn’t I? What am I doing and what should I be doing? Is it worth it emotionally right now or is staying away really the best option? Then I go into his face and his voice!
Blah. Blah. Blah.
If I can’t contrive some sort of venting ritual, this is what it’s going to be. The boundless, constant circle of trivial emotion. Go away, come here, I hate you, don’t leave me. Ohfurchristsake. No wonder I have writer’s block, the whole situation is mayhem. Die, keyboard, die!