So. I took this blog down. Didn't feel acidic enough. And I couldn't write stories. There I am, handing out tips on writing. And I don't feel the fiction flowing.
Story titles.
SQUIRMINATE.
MOISTURISEN.
HALF A WORM AT THE BOTTOM OF MY CEREAL.
MALTESER SHITS.
HOW TO TELL IF YOUR MAN WAS SUCKED OFF BY YOUR GOLDFISH.
MENSTRUAL CRANBERRIES.
And other fun hits. This grew cold, stale, old. And it went off fast. I mean like...macaroni and cheese slurping down into the crack between the cooker and the counter.
That nasty. You know you have to clean it up, but you also know you can walk away.
And I walked away from my fiction because it didn't feel genuine. I know. Unwritten, it felt false. And what the fuck is fiction if it isn't some made-up shit anyway?
Not acidic enough. MOISTURISEN. That was going to be about evil moisturiser that turns the user into a decaying wreck. Kind of in the zombie area. But it was only half-formed as a story.
I'm hacked to bits that I am now sitting here writing about not writing. Putting the blog back out there might do something for me. Do I really want to write about this stuff?
No. I want to do tales of pretty flowers, and unicorns, and true love, and perfumed forests...wasted by a nuclear blast.
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