I tried to get some parts of a project together so I could have a couple of short stories. Because of really trivial and boring reasons, I haven't been able to spend quality time with my project, and it's been chasing me in my head.
However, when I visited it, I didn't like anything I could salvage. One of my very good friends tells me I am too happy with the delete button, and that the work is not bad.
I've always have problems with beginnings, as anyone who reads this blog can tell. But now, it is the wrapping up that won't come easily.
I find reasons not to work on my writing: I have syllabi to construct, a quilt to finish, reading to do, an Elective to re-examine. I also feel as though I've fed my resident monster as long as I write something, anything, syllabi, assignments, reviews, and to a large extent, I am content. My demon is too exhausted to wake me up in the middle of the night, with itching fingers.
But I stay awake anyways and worry if I shall die without anyone knowing my story, stories; they need to be told.
But they seem to have chosen a rather incompetent teller.