I am writing. I have so, so many ideas. I'm desperately trying to pin them down. But they get jumbled, and bumbled, and mumbled into my ear, and I can't translate very well. The occasional lucid thought that ends up a well-formed opinion is frantically scribbled or typed (depending on my frame of mind). But yes, it's getting out there and down there and around there.
I have an issue, though. Once they're out, they have no purpose. They don't know what to do with themselves. They just sit around. It's frustrating. I wish they could run free. But on which road??
Somebody, please, sort out my issues for me. It's too much.
I can play one song on guitar.
2 comments:
your writing serves a purpose, of course. a few. firstly, i get to read it. finally, you enjoy it. moreover, practice never hurt anybody. except the man who practiced pulling out his fingernails.
also, i enjoy reading anything you write. you don't have to have earth-shattering ideas to put down for anyone. that's the beauty of YOUR annawriting. you could write about shaving your legs and i would enjoy it. your unique talent is that you turn the mundane into ... mundance. purely through your wonderful use of language.
you're the best.
xoxo
madam. your presence is required.
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