Writing Is Hard Sometimes

I haven't written anything in a while. Sometimes I get like that, and as a self-described writer, I'm sure that that can be something of a problem.

As a man, I get caught up in the details of things. If I want to do something, to write something, to create, I have set for myself a bad habit of peering too far down the road to investigate rather my proposed action is anywhere near worth it, which, as a creative person, is poisonous. Let it flow, I preach. Let it go, I act.

I have many ideas in this head of mine, which is pretty stupid. I'm one signifigant head injury away from losing it all and spening my years looking helplessly into the dizzying array of lights and distractions that make up this world and thinking only 'neat-o'. Not the way I wish to live. Ideas are much like all energy - stagnant until put into action.

I have not ruled out that more experiences will force me into a place where coomunicating all that I have seen and felt is not a choice but an action that serves only to preserve sanity. Not only a good idea, but sounds fun.

So, the slump ends now. I haven't written Huck Finn here, but I have turned the engine back on. The cobwebs need clearing and the juices some time to reach all the arid pipes of my psyche, but it's back on track, and things are turning back around, again. Still some magic left in this summer, I say.

Feel free to send me a muse.