I am not a full-on writer. Yes, I write everyday, but I prefer to jump around a bit. I blame my relentless creativity, my easy-going personality, and my overall forgetful mood. For all these reasons, it makes it hard for me to get very far in a story. Very hard to focus. And very easy to take breaks and start new stories. So you can probably guess I have a lot started.
I think that sometimes I can get judged by this factor. Writers usually have patience, and a rock-hard dedication that pulls them through. Me? I was raised in a family where I got everything I wanted, threw a tantrum if I didn't, and was eventually bribed to stop. It's made me defiant, relaxed with deadlines, and most of all, lazy. And really, I hate it. I'm slow in my writing (Some people can get 10k down in a single day, where I can barely get 1k on my best days, sometimes 2 or 3k if I work late into the night.
I also realize that I could be writing right now. But with the revelation of how many good stories I had started up, I came to post here. Creativity doesn't just hit in story ideas, and today this post idea hit me hard.
Idk what the point to this is. I do know I miss several people, and that I'm a sucker for many things, so yeah. I suppose I can finish off with an excerpt. Not that anyone cares--because it'll probably never get finished.
My breath is held. I am frozen to a halt, stricken with fear. My eyes
are glued to the feathered wings sprouting from my back, though not in
admiration for the beauty of the light shimmer reflecting off the pureness in
their white. Only terror.
The entwined feathers
drag my eyes to them, each trying to steal the spotlight from another as they
attempt to win me over. But then one of the extra, unwanted limps twitch, and
my mouth opens to scream, but something tangles with my lips, and stops my plea.
And then my eyes spring
open. Tears run down the side of my face and down my cheeks; I’m soaking in the
liquid. My damp hair is wrapped firmly around my face, especially my mouth,
explaining the gag. My blankets, soggy from my tears and sweat, tie around my
body in an unwelcome embrace.
I attempt to calm
myself from my troubled state and, failing, I instead decide to slowly untangle
myself. It takes a few minutes, but as soon as I’m free, my fingers leap to my
back. Nothing’s there at all, except my trembling shoulder blades.
An exhale of relief
emits itself. I can live another day.
