I haven’t posted in a while. I blame Spring and Summer with their inviting weather which leads me away from my general melancholia fueled musings.
I get the writing bug just about the time that the sun is absent when I wake up for work. Thoughts turn to the transitory nature of existence and I feel compelled to chronicle my sophmoric love affair with mortality.
I woke up Regina (my typewriter) from her slumber and wrote a quick exploratory piece about a man who looks back on a childhood memory. An old man used to play guitar at the local mercantile and one day sings a confession to the boy. The boy was too young at the time to pick up on it and he only realizes it many years later when an article in the newspaper recounts how a skeleton was found out behind the mercantile while crews were digging a new septic pond.
Not a great story but at least I dipped a toe in the water.
I look at the other writers I follow and they have been consistently producing some great work. I hate all of you. Seriously though, so many of you produce great work and there are so many other great writers out there who are just waiting for their break who grind it out day after day. It’ll happen.
As the temperature drops, I suspect my output will increase. Until then, I’ll be content to catch up on all the other writer’s posts that I’ve neglected to keep up with.