The Empty Mind

The quality of writing here is just, it's awesome.  Often I wish the stories were finished because I really want to know what happened, but then half the fun is watching them come to life. 

Every time I come to play I read and read and think, wow I want to be a part of that.  And then it happens... well actually, nothing happens and that's the problem.  It's all there, just bursting waiting to come out and it won't come.  Maybe I'm scared, probably that's it.  Aside from English in university and a few poems, not many people have read my stuff.  Let's face it.. as neat as this place is, most of the time its terrifying.  I want the reviews, I crave the input, a desire to grow as an author; it's all there. 

I don't mind starting my own story, that's not nearly so scary.  But what if I wreck a perfectly good story?

That little voice inside my head, what if I am just not good enough?

So I suppose my mind isn't really empty at all.  It's much easier to call it writer's block though eh?  It's sounds so, artsy.  This poor troubled artist just can't funnel that creative energy.  That is a problem worthy of an author.  Fear?  Well that's not sophisticated at all.  Fear is for the less elite, for the weak, for those who are not "authors". 

Why is it when I'm a million miles away from any writing implement, a million ideas are in my brain.  The stories just flow and I can hardly wait to write them down.  Then, presented with the opportunity, the idea hides under a rock.  A very heavy, large, rock.

Hey, look at that, I just wrote something.  Maybe tomorrow I can try and write something that's actually worth reading.

The End

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