I've lost my brain...well, more specifically, it appears I've lost whatever fuels my creativity and imagination. Seriously. Gone baby gone. I've started to write three separate short stories this month, and discarded two within a day or so after struggling to make them work; I'm not into making things hard on myself these days--life's just too damn short. My third idea is the one I mentioned a while back that would probably take six installments to tell the story, and I'm fine with that. In a twisted, torturous way I miss the serial angst from last year.
Except, though this new tale has promise, I'm having some issues with the heroine's reasons to be on the run. Strangely, I already know who the bad guy is, and how the story ends. It's just...I just can't...it's not...
And now we're back to the beginning. I've lost the plot. My thoughts drift like smoke with nary a spark of imagery, illusion or inspiration. (Though, drat, it appears I'm having no trouble with alliteration).
Perhaps, just maybe, this third story also isn't worthy, hence why I've been stewing and fretting and not getting on with it. Maybe I should just write a story about not being able to write a---
I think the pilot light just flickered...