Five-minute free write
I tried posting this last night, but my router started acting up right when I tried to publish.
It is the night, when the cars splash the puddles of rain and get nobody wet. Thwe cat is trilling her “I have a cute toy and you better pay attention to me” song, but I am about to fall aslepp and have yet anotyher dream where I live in a strange house in the middle of nowhere. This is somewhere, but not where I want to be. I am someone, but not who I want to be. Other people may see the streets as barren, but I just want the rain to flood them and turn them into sheets of ice. No, I don’t . I hate ice. Queen Elizabeth is 85 years old and probably would look silly with sunglasses and an electric guitar, making the stwereotypical “guitar face” people like Carols Santana usually make. This is the sound of my hands getting used to the constant writing again. It is time to go ahead and start writing for at least a half hour every day, on paper or on a blank word document that nobody sees. This is why I live. I want to go ahead and force myself to come up with something that I can actually submit to someone and get approved or rejected. And I want the nerve to keep at it. I think there is no shame in being a kind of lofty goalmaker but I don’t know what kind of lofty goalks are worth having these days anymore. This is it