Honestly, I cannot fathom why I sometimes have to 'force' myself to write.
'Blue' has been mired as of late. I have put my energies into the giraffe tale. It's finished and ready to move into the next phase.
'Blue' is not ready. If it had its own way, it would never be ready. I think it hides from me.
Tonight, I opened the old folder and pulled up the file. There it sat, sticking its tongue out at me. But I would have none of it.
I read the last few lines that I'd written and commenced to challenge her. Worked awesome. As it always does. This waiting and not writing and procrastinating is a bunch of hooey. Stupid. I sometimes want to scream and pull out my hair when I do this.
Because every time I do force myself to write - it flows. The story is there, waiting for me, hoping I'll come back.
I'm sorry, 'Blue.' I'll try to be better.
But oh - it's so exciting to see what's next. Why do I wait? Why do I wait? Why do I wait?
Life is puzzling.