I have nothing of importance to say, nothing gnawing at my brain to get out, but my writing hand is
getting itchy – well, has been for some time now. The problem? I've been fairly dormant,
uninspired.
I was hoping France would light a muse-filled fire under my
uninspired butt; however, it did not. This is not to say I didn’t love my trip,
I did (but that’s for another time). It’s just that it wasn’t a very
introspective time; this trip’s personality was just different. Perhaps it was
me. Who knows?
Time, at home, alone hasn’t really helped either. I suppose
I am still hoping that all my nonsensical daydreams will somehow formulate
themselves into a cohesive and interesting narrative. Sadly, they have not.
Lazy Buggers.
So…what’s the answer? Well, when I figure that out, I’ll
sing it from the rooftops, or, more realistically, type if from my couch (it is
not easy to get to my roof).
No comments:
Post a Comment