I had many things I wanted to write about here, but now, as I’m seated comfortably in my chair, at my desk, I have no ideas of what to write.
I’ve been reading a book about letters, The Correspondence, and I just am so amazed at how authors create ideas. It’s a brilliant storytelling, because there are so many portions where you have to use your own brain to figure out why and how. There are portions where the story grows in its own way, and it makes for such a heart felt understanding of the characters.
I like reading, and I like writing, and this book really has made me think of so many things. But I just keep missing the moments of writing.
I’ll probably get my pocket notebook going with me again, to catch some of these portions before I keep forgetting them. I don’t know how it will make sense; sometimes my random ideas just sound good in my head, but when I try to make it real, it just looks insane instead.
I’m sure I had a thought about writing letters and making zines, but it’s definitely lost somewhere. I probably have thoughts about work that need to be on a powerpoint or a piece of paper, but they’re all just drifting away, out of my mind.
It’s just one of those days today. But it’s really more like a season than anything else.
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