Today is a pell mell writing day. Meh writing. Just stare at the screen and think blase thoughts because nothing is rising. I tried to do a character arc analysis ala Matt Bell. Nope. Terrible writing. Not even worth salvaging. Just toss into the digital trash can and move forward.

Edit poetry? Yeah. Just look at the poetry and the brain goes in circles and nothing happens.

Even this blog just feels pell mell.

Summer is four weeks in my rear view mirror. I do have a novel that I finished writing. Poetry that I’ve written and edited. But I feel off track which is why I’m forcing myself to write about blase writing when I’d rather not be wasting my time with this blase writing.

But that’s something every writer discusses. Even on the most boring days, write. So I am.

Today was a cool rainy day which is lovely. We didn’t get as much rain as I had hoped. The rain barrels are still only two-thirds full which is not bad. But it’s not great either because more dry weather is on the back side of today’s rain. I’m wratching the back end of the front siphon past the house. The trees keep leaning east as the wind pushes through their branches. It’s cool outside, a loveliness against this morning’s humidity. I’d rather be outside but it’s just soggy. Another element of the pell mell day.

I am yearing for an adventure. A get off my butt and run away and do something different experience. A go to the top of a mountain and watch the sunset experience. A don’t be average or ordinary or blase experience. I feel cooped up and contained and a thousand vibrant potentials are humming inside me but I can’t focus on any of them. I can feel the nodules of inspiration. Untouched matchsticks waiting for that scratchy friction surface to ignite.

And yet. A nothingness as well. I’d write poetry about it. But it’s just circular writing. Nothing of merit. Just words on a page. And then a creative bromation.