eor

I have had a long streak of not being able to write. Not that I write stories or anything, but for a long time I've felt like I couldn't write a shopping list. I had ideas and things I wanted to say, but whenever I'd set down to write them, in any medium, I either couldn't start or would feel completely awful about the start and immediately stop.

Some time, maybe a few weeks ago, that seems to have changed. I don't know what precipitated the change, but things started to slowly shift. I wrote a few things that, though they weren't anything but boring, did at least they came out. Then one night I wrote a letter that I felt came out perfect, or near perfect. Maybe I got my rhythm back. I don't know.

At least now it doesn't feel like an onerous task to write a weekly email to my mum or whip off a few words about a book I've read. I don't claim to be writing any better. At least I feel better about doing the writing.

This is fiction. The city it takes place in ceased to exist over a decade ago, if it ever existed at all. The characters are even more sketchy. Credit for any bits that aren't entirely cruddy belong to The Replacements and Hornitos.

( a bit of mildly interactive fiction )

I started these snippets a few days ago, can't remember when exactly, but got distracted and didn't finish the thought.

( snippets )