Writing

I'd possibly be an accomplished well known novelist if it wasn't for the fact that every time I start to write something fictional I either deviate too far from the original idea, forget it completely, or simply read back over it, hate it, and lose interest followed by deleting it altogether. There was one rather short and depressing poem I wrote several years ago and submitted to website which published it in a book along with the other "winning" entries from their users. Alas, the website, book title and poem have all escaped the confines of my dark recess of a memory and I didn't at the time feel like paying for a copy of the book. Anyway, let's get back on track.

Sitting with my napping dogs, Ellie and Buddha, I had just finished Chapter Two of Tara Moss's Siren when the idea crept inside my head to about a dark mysterious fellow with thoughts of revenge and retribution to dish out. I flipped open my laptop, opened up OpenOffice Writer 2.0 and proceeded to type. What I typed was most definitely not dark nor was it mysterious.
The mysterious man had transformed within mere seconds and I found myself writing about a young woman enjoying the sun late one Spring day...

...so unless something dark and mysterious happens I don't know what's going on.