I'm feeling only stuttered inspiration right now. I'm at the middle school again. The kids are much better today, 'cause I've laid down the law, but I still can't get into the rhythym of writing, the rise and fall of the words. At least it's sunny. At least it's Friday. Only two more hours.
I've been writing and writing lately, in furious bursts of almost psychotic inspiration, but I haven't really had one since Tuesday's manic eruption. I am about two-thirds of the way done with my current story and feel that it is the best I've ever written. I've knocked off about three pages since then, but there is no spiritual cohesion yet. So I'll just wait for the muse to saunter back.
Not much has been up in my world lately. I keep burning my creative candle to the bottom and am left to sift through the remains of the days on autopilot, but I'd have it no other way. Only by reaching exhaustion can one truly experience accomplishment.
I've got to read a book on Lincoln and the Gettysburg address, and just lack the initiative to get started. I've got to read Frankenstein. I am just academically burnt...I need to have a nice, relaxing weekend.
And I took a walk last night, under the icy stars, contemplating all things Dan. That's how I think my way through stories, working on characters and storylines. That's why I'm so unhurried when I walk, that is my meditation time. I want to take a walk right now.
I'm gonna ty to cook tonight. It was nice knowing you.

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