a monkey stole my juicebox
how weird is it to feel like a failed writer if i've never really been one? there are like a dozen ideas that have been sitting there gathering dust in my backburner, all in different stages of completion, some of them a decade old or more, some lost along with old notebooks or notes on my old phone. the lost ones i miss like one would miss their own abandoned children. those that i keep here, sometimes i come back to them. they're like a patchwork blanket, some parts of them are perfect and polished, others make me cringe.
i used to enjoy the process of writing so much. nowadays i barely ever get an idea that keeps me up all night while i frantically try to write it down till it runs away from me like i used to.
got one of those yesterday for the first time in a while. that one's a stubborn bitch, one second it's there in all it's glory, dialogue snappy and plot points flowing into each other with natural ease, the other i can't remember a fucking word of what i just heard in my head so clearly. damn it.
i dunno what this means for me. maybe my uh, let's call them writer tendencies, finally atrophied because i haven't been following them. there was always something more immediate and more important to do. or maybe it's because i've been feeling down lately. getting motivated to do anything is hard these days.
anyway, i sure wish i made at least some of my stray plot bunnies into stories. maybe it would've made me feel more accomplished and less like a waste of space.
i used to enjoy the process of writing so much. nowadays i barely ever get an idea that keeps me up all night while i frantically try to write it down till it runs away from me like i used to.
got one of those yesterday for the first time in a while. that one's a stubborn bitch, one second it's there in all it's glory, dialogue snappy and plot points flowing into each other with natural ease, the other i can't remember a fucking word of what i just heard in my head so clearly. damn it.
i dunno what this means for me. maybe my uh, let's call them writer tendencies, finally atrophied because i haven't been following them. there was always something more immediate and more important to do. or maybe it's because i've been feeling down lately. getting motivated to do anything is hard these days.
anyway, i sure wish i made at least some of my stray plot bunnies into stories. maybe it would've made me feel more accomplished and less like a waste of space.