I am not in the mood for writing today. I don’t know exactly what kind of mood I’m in, but it’s a not-doing-things kind of mood. Somewhere in the depths of my mind I had a plan to write a nice flash fiction piece based on a prompt, post it, and revel in the likes I would get. All I can think of to write, however, is a rant on how I don’t feel like writing, how I wish I were more disciplined in writing, the sheer number of ideas swirling around in my head. That’s basically all these ideas ever do: swirl around in a gloopy nebulous mess. And here I am, stuck again, not sure what to write next. I’m not sure what’s wrong with my brain today. The characters locked inside my head want to get out and have their stories told; the one with the loudest voice at the moment has become my friend. He’s been locked in there for years. I want to let him go, but I haven’t found the key yet. The others too want me to open their cell doors, but they don’t seem to clamor as loudly. And yet I don’t feel like writing. It’s kind of ironic.
We’ll see what tomorrow brings. That’s all for now.