I feel like an old worn out library book
with a scummy scratchy hard avocado green cover
that no one ever pulls off the shelf
to consider as an viable reading option.
In short, I'm not feeling the literary love.
Because my mental circuitry has been clogged with other more pressing matters, I haven't had the time (nor the inclination) to stroke the keyboard. No words come forth and want to pour forward. No real urge to share. Or care. Sorry.
I'm going to blame other things. It certainly can't be because I'm lazy. Or feeling stupid and inarticulate. It must be because it's cold and wintry. It must be this extra fifteen pounds I'm lugging around on my outrageously disproportionately sized thighs and all that weight is surely weighing down my sluggish brain.
Regardless of my lame excuses, I am still thinking about my story. A lot. And I'm doing lots of lovely research about my story. A lot. And I am trying not to be too afraid to get serious and final get down to business and start plotting my story.
In the meantime, (to press my analogy a bit further) my card hasn't been stamped here in awhile because I can't seem to get the gumption to "get off the shelf" and make the words work.