Extraneous Voices of Picayune > Cavern of Inane Natter

Today, writing feels like...

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Today, writing feels like standing knee-deep in muck. The land behind me is barren. The land ahead is full of verdant life. I must slog through to get from the one to the other.

Struggling through mental treacle....

I have had ideas, made a start, contributed further but am now back in my rut...

...something I don't have time for.

....a self-indulgent vice.

There is stuff I should be writing, there are difficult writing challenges I could undertake, but for the last month I have been slipping away from other responsibilities to write things that will only be meaningful to me.

On the cusp of a dreadfully busy weekend (co-hosting a Horse show saturday, and providing room for 3 guests over said weekend) sitting down with a glass of bourbon and a few quiet hours on the Citadel, writing, feels like spending time with a pretty girl. She's pretty, and she likes me, but I won't see her after this for a little bit, and while we might hold hands and flirt at the table over dinner, she won't be coming home with me tonight.


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