Would That I Might

I am feeling quite tired tonight.  I haven't slept well over the past week and have been dragging all day today.  As a result, I decided that I would cut back a tiny bit on my writing for tonight.  I still wrote a new flash piece and some poetry, but I let myself slack off on some of the other work that I generally do, and I didn't worry about writing quite as many poems as I normally do.  I feel like it was a reasonable compromise that will let me get myself to bed at a fairly reasonable hour for once while still doing the core of my writing work for tonight.  If I am feeling guilty about what I didn't get done, I have time in the morning to make up for it.

You think it was the same dog that had been there before but I do not know if it was that dog or a different dog. I know it was not the one that ran about and caused all the trouble, but it might be her dog who has been here forever and who did like to go off and cause his own kind of trouble, just never quite as dramatically, I suppose. You think it is the same dog but I am not all that certain. I don't know how many dogs she has staying there. I do not really care that much. It is more that I don't like her. The dogs would not bother me if I did not think of them as her dogs.

Writing flash fiction every day is a big challenge for me.  I don't know if I really understand just what it is that I am having difficulty with, but I realize that it is to do with creating pieces that feel complete.  In some ways, I am still trying to figure out how to shape the plot and craft an ending that feels like it is conclusive, or at least resolved in some capacity.  I do still recognize that the primary goal is just to get myself to write a new piece every day, even if it isn't the best story I've ever written.  The best way I can get better is through writing more.

I tell her about the fear that I run away, hesitate, obfuscate the meaning, do anything to make it anything else besides itself. I don't trust what is there, do not want to reveal it and be judged by it, considered, measured, known.  I don't like it. I do not pretend to like it. What good would pretending do anyhow? Things can be different, that is not impossible, it just feels that way tonight.

I had a lot of difficulty with writing my flash piece tonight.  In the end, I am really not certain that what I produced is all that great, but I am glad to have done it.  I feel like that is more significant than the specifics of the story itself.  In the end, I am viewing this as a part of my practice and, thus, as a way to grow and develop as a writer.  In that context, the individual pieces of writing are not what I am focusing on.  Rather, I am thinking about it all as part of a process.

There is more but none of it exists It was left off, forgotten, was never anything beyond the implication. Maybe that is enough for it to be considered as existing on its own, at least as the idea, the consideration. Maybe that is more than what never was if what never was  was never even a thought. There is a difference,  maybe, but not one that is real and in the world. That may be the point, that may be why I think it is an important matter.

The flash story that I wrote tonight did not get into that same meta-fictional space as recent pieces.  It was actually a rather grounded piece, in terms of the plot and character and such.  Even if it had not been meta-fictional, it could still have veered towards the surreal or absurd, or just the fantastical, but it remained mostly realistic in that sense.  I do think that I was trying to do something in terms of the way that I approached it, but I think that it is still rather unformed, to be honest.  I don't think it is a great success as a piece of writing, to be honest, but I feel that it is an interesting shift, and I think that there is much good writing in it.  I don't want to become too caught up in the success or failure of any single piece, though.  I would rather view it all as a learning process for the moment.

There may be more that is not obvious I would not notice at all because I am too close or know too much or too little that is real, too little that is not a lie I have been telling myself or hearing so long it sounds like my own words. I think I know something, more than just something, too. I think I know more than that, even. That is what I think of myself, and what I know.  And of course I think that. It is the easiest of the answers and takes so little of the blame.

It took me a while to get myself into gear tonight, though I did find my way through a story using my same tactic.  I am wondering just how good it is, but that is always true.  I think that I am also concerned that the stories I've been writing have all been, in some ways, efforts to do the same thing over and over.  I feel like I am trying to get it right, which is definitely something I've done in terms of writing poems that repeat the same theme or concept.  Often, I recognize when this is happening, as I find myself thinking about another poem with the same central ideas.  In this case. I am not entirely certain what specifically I want to achieve, but I do think there is something I am working towards in writing so many of this sort of story.

I had expectations even when I began which is not good or helpful.  It is best to not be waiting, to be open and accept what comes as what is natural and right. That is what I am told, anyhow. I understand that it is easier when there is no disappointment, but I do not know if the answer is not having any expectations at all. I am certain the inaccuracies of what I believed would come to be were not good things.  I know that. They did not help me at all, but I don't know if that is everything. I do not know if it is good to throw it all away and have nothing instead.

My flash fiction continues to evolve down this strange path where the characters are very much aware of the story that they are part of, and there is a level at which that feels as if I am kind of doing the same thing in many of these stories at the moment.  I know that a lot of them have structural similarities that I think could make them seem too alike, and that does concern me.  But, as well, the piece I wrote tonight was very different in terms of the approach it took, even while sharing many other aspects with previous pieces.  As well, as I have said before, I think that this approach has liberated me and offered me a tactic for kicking inspiration into gear, and that those results matter the most.

I do not know if you will notice and even if you do will you understand?  I think you would. You might.  I can say that  with certainty, but only because it is an uncertain thing to say. I hope you won't even know, won't be aware at all. It wasn't intended for you, but I know you might find it and it might be clear just what is underneath. I hope that does not happen. It is not my intention, it is just a risk I chose to accept, though I regret it, I think, at least for the moment.

There is something that I am finding very satisfying about writing stories from my current meta-fictional approach.  In some way, I do think that I am doing something unusual with it, though that is a difficult thing to really be certain about.  The best I can say is that I feel that I am finding it fruitful.  As I said last night, it has helped me to feel a bit liberated from certain concerns about what to do next in a story, and I think, as well, that I am learning and developing the approach itself.  That is inevitable, I suppose, considering that I have been writing a new piece each day, and over the last week they have fallen almost exclusively into this mode.  In some ways, if I am honest, that does concern me.  I worry that this is a limiting approach and that I should not be writing only this type of story.  At the moment, though, I am not going to let myself worry too much about that, as I am still more interested in making certain that I can keep myself going.  It seems as if

I do not want what remains now I want what you gave away, what I was saving for myself.  I did the labor, made the effort to bring this about, but you do not consider that. You do not question if I have a reason. I do not think it would matter if you thought I did. I am only here to do what you require. The only benefit I get is your being just a bit less upset that things have gone your way. I wonder, though, would you tell me the same thing about myself?

As I have been mentioning, I sorted of started approaching writing stories with this idea of letting the characters exist with an awareness of their fictionality and with the ability to respond to the story itself.  In large part this is just a way to jump start stories, or at least that is what started me in this direction, and I have to acknowledge that many of the stories I am writing at the moment have come together for me precisely because I used that approach to break me from not knowing what to do.  To be honest, part of what works about this as a tactic for getting into a story is recognizing that I always have someplace to go in such a story.  For one thing, if I really have no idea what I want to do in the story, I can have a character make a comment about things, can acknowledge the situation directly inside the story.  For another, I am also able to have the characters say things that respond to story elements, and thus it is possible for the story to critique itself in a w

I could be clear but I don't trust that, don't trust enough that it will be good to be understood that way, that much.  I know: I should be ready and willing. There are times and places, and I am, I do my best to be. I think I can tell it, one day, and will.  Today is too soon for me. I don't want to keep it inside but I have so much fear. There is judgement, maybe, and what else comes after judgement, and I don't think it is good. How strange, it is not anything terrible, not really.  It is nothing I did or a harm I am involved with. It is only a desire, a goal, it is nothing terrible, is it? I don't know.  I worry that I am right, that my fear is appropriate.  Maybe there is no other way? I do not want to be clear, as I said, but I wish so much I felt that I could be. I wonder what that would change.

I think that I stumbled into something very interesting in the story I wrote tonight.  It was another in the series of pieces I have been writing recently which involves the character being aware of me as the writer, which also means they know that they are fictional.  Anyhow, I think that the piece I wrote tonight wound up travelling into some interesting space which I am curious to explore further.  What made it really interesting, I think, is that in the story, I, as the writer, am the one who it turns out to be about, in a certain way, and I kind of fail.  I think there is a lot more that might be possible in terms of this kind of approach, especially in terms of using those metafictional elements to draw the real into the fictional world.

I should have done more tonight but I was overwhelmed by it. I did so much, already, all through the day. It was a day of preparation, of making certain each thing was done and done well, was correct and in place and waiting. That was today, and it was not enough. There was still more. It will have to be done tomorrow. Time will be short, but it has to be enough. There is no choice but for the time left to be enough. I cannot allow this to go the other way.

I have found an approach that seems to be working for me, in terms of always having an idea for a new story, although it is rather odd.  The key has been to allow the characters to be aware and to have them responding to my failure to give them adequate material.  It is a rather strange approach, I know, but it seems to help me loosen up and play.  The result has been that each time I started out without much of an idea about what to write and found my way through by letting the character go crazy and attack my failures as a writer, for example.  In some sense, I recognize this strategy as similar to the way that I often choose to write poems about not being certain what to write.  In this case, it involves placing many of the concerns that I might express directly in a poem into the mouth of the character instead.

The Help I Need How long is it between where I am and where I want to go and what has been done to shorten the journey? Is there anything that is real or is it all just illusions? I just want to be certain you are able to help, that it is not a trick or some misunderstanding. I want to trust you.

I found myself, again, a bit uncertain what to write, and once more I was able to find my way into a story by embracing my difficulties.  Last night's story took on the form of a short piece of detective fiction, but the real core of it was about a writer struggling with a character.  The story I wrote tonight took on similar themes, but in this case it was the author encountering a character and not being certain what to do with them at first.  By including the elements that were holding me back as an explicit part of the story, I liberated myself to be more playful and a bit less serious in my approach.  Also, on a more practical level, focusing on writing about an ongoing experience often works well because it provides something obvious to write about.  It may simply be that writing about the difficulty I am having while working on the story is a successful strategy because it means I know what I am going to write about.

I have been thinking it may be too late now and it scares me that I think that. It feels hopeless, feels like anything is pointless. I am still trying, though, so maybe I do not actually believe it? Or maybe I am delusional or know I can't give in  to that belief, that it would hurt too much, would damage me to accept that. I don't know what to say or do, though. I cannot fight against it, can't stop myself from succumbing to the thought that it is has been too long, that the opportunity is lost, has ended. I know that I need proof that this is not the truth, is not really how it is. I need evidence of things getting better. That is all I am asking for. It does not feel as if  it should be this hard to find, unless I am right and it is too late. It scares me, as I said before. I find myself rather scared. 

The key issue for me right now in terms of my new flash fiction regiment, as I think I have talked about before, is in terms of having an idea for a new story each time I sit down to write one, though I don't know if that is really the issue or if it is more about having the confidence that the idea is present, because it really isn't very difficult to come up with an idea for a story.  Having an idea is probably the easiest part of writing anything, in truth.  I think the real issue is more just having the ability to trust that the idea is going to work. In writing poetry, I solved this by coming up with various tactics that let me turn the feeling of uncertainty into a poem, often by writing poems about how I am not certain what I want to write about or some other variation on that type of thing.  It is a bit naval-gazing to write poems about how I am having difficulty writing, I know, but the point of it is more about not allowing myself to be stuck than anything else.  I ha

We began but only in theory, only in having decided what the beginning is, what it will be. Nothing is done, yet, nothing is even planned. I need to take the first step. Why haven't I? I know what it is and I have prepared, have readied myself. It is time, I know. We have chosen and I must act. Will you help? I need you to make certain I do not keep forgetting, because the truth is I never forget, I just do nothing because I know any time I do something it could go wrong.

I had a lot of trouble with writing my flash piece tonight.  There was a long period when I just sat around with no idea what I was going to write.  In the end, I did create something that I think is kind of interesting, maybe even good, in a way.  The key was in choosing an approach to it, in terms of the actual writing itself.  This is similar to what I did last night, not in terms of the specifics of what I wrote but in terms of the attitude and thought process.  It is still a bit nebulous at the moment, but I think I am beginning to find a concrete tactic for getting started when I am feeling stuck.

So much has not gone right and it does not feel there is enough time to correct what is wrong.  The chances do not seem to be there.  I do not want to just be an optimist any longer and have faith, hope it will work out. I do not think that is anything, certainly it is not enough. I am too unsure, sinking enough I will soon be submerged with no breath in my lung. It is not a way for things to be, but it is the world, isn't it, at least that is what I am told when I ask what to do. This is how it is they will tell me, just be fine with that, just accept it and be alright with nothing changing very much, or maybe(probably) less than that.

I did something a little bit odd with my flash piece tonight, and I think that it was an important step, even if I am not so certain that the specific piece is really that good.  The thing was, I had an idea for the story, but I wasn't really certain how to make it work or if I could do it in the space available,  As a result, I just kind of froze up and procrastinated, not writing anything at all.  After a bit of that, I realized I had to give myself a shove towards something, and so I just started writing, setting aside the idea I had for the story.  Instead, I found myself writing about how I did have an idea for a story but was not certain I could execute on it, and then I just went and described the stories general plot.  As I said, I am not certain that the piece which resulted was all that great, but I was able to find an approach that freed me to get writing when I was feeling stuck, and I think that itself is, at present, one of the most vital things.  I am getting better

Those words have a meaning and not the one you intend, and that is important, cannot be ignored. You will tell me you intended another meaning but that is not enough. It is lazy and dishonest and shows you do not care. There is nothing that can redeem that, but that is fine with you, anyhow. None of this is anything that will matter to you. I am the only one  who will be upset.

I think that I am still, very often, writing stories that are more about premise than anything else, and I would like to move away from that.  The fact that I am aware of it is probably a sign that it is starting to shift.  The issue is, often I find myself getting to a certain point and not being certain where to take the narrative.  I had a story tonight where I knew what was going to happen in general, but only up to a certain point, and I wasn't sure where to take the story from that point.  Often, that point in the story is really the moment in the story when that premise is fully realized or revealed, and once that premise runs out, I am not certain where things are going any longer.  In some cases, that is still an okay place to end the story, especially when it is a flash piece.  The implication that there is more to the story, that this is only just a small glimpse in on a larger narrative, can be very effective when done well, and that feels like an approach that works pa

We already made the decision and I am certain it is a good choice, or I was certain, when we chose, and I should feel that way now: nothing has changed.  It is decided but nothing has happened to make me think different, to complicate the issue with new information, factors to consider. It was none of that, but I am sill doubting. Perhaps it is nothing, just pessimism or the ghost of bad experiences past. I don't know why. I am trying not to listen. We made a good decision. Even in my doubt the part of me that remembers is still convinced we chose well, but each time I think it now, there is another voice.

The story that I wrote tonight went over the thousand word limit for flash fiction.  I am not all that surprised that it happened, really.  It was a more complicated story that I was trying to write, and I am sure that had an impact.  After I finished and I realized that it was not flash fiction, I did go back and write another piece that was shorter and fit the criteria, if only because I want to feel that I am keeping the promise I made to myself about writing a flash piece daily.  I suppose that I could have counted the other story and changed it to say that I was writing a piece of flash or other fiction, but I want to keep that focus on writing flash for the moment.  In fact, I am still thinking I might be able to edit the piece I wrote tonight down and get it under the 1000 word count. 

There is a need for proof that it is real as a possibility in my life, that the effort is worthwhile and not just a waste. It is no good to continue, to keep working and hoping, not unless it can be. It is no good to say it can happen. I need to know if it is possible for me.

At this point, a lot of the flash fiction I've written is somewhat strange but still rather conventional, as fiction goes.  The strangeness has been more on the content side, not in the mode of communication itself.  I would like to begin finding ways to play more with those elements, but I know it will probably take me a while before I am comfortable doing that.  I am still figuring out how to make certain I write a complete and satisfying piece.  Trying to push the envelope on what I can achieve technically is a bit unrealistic until I have developed more in terms of my ability to do the basics well, though I do wonder if that is just a limiting thought.  It may be that I would find myself liberated if I chose to just let myself go wild with crazy and unconventional approaches, and I do want to try that.  Perhaps it is time to start opening up my thought process to allow those possibilities to come through a bit.  One thing that is good about the approach I am taking is that each

It is not what I want It was never what I wanted, and I don't want it now. I wish it had not been, that we had not, that it was never done, that I hadn't given in to that pressure. You won't understand. You think it is fine. You give reasons why I am wrong or why I should reconsider, but they do not align with what is wrong, what why I resist. I do not think it is clear: that path means death to me. Its heart does not beat.

I am definitely feeling that something is shifting in my flash fiction.  The best I have been able to come up with is that the stories are more complete or developed, though I do not know if that is accurate.  I think that I am bringing them to more of a conclusion at this point, finding ways for the situations to develop, and I am revealing more about the characters and such.  I am also playing a lot more as I grow more comfortable, which might really be what is happening, as I think about it.  I am getting to a point where it is going to feel unremarkable for me to just write a flash piece, the way that it is for me to think about writing a poem at this point.  That isn't to say I don't value it or think it is important or bring a real effort to the endeavor, but when you write as practice, writing each day the way that I do, you push yourself to always be ready and not to need some sort of inspiration.  That is what I mean by it being unremarkable: it does not require some s

I keep thinking it is already tomorrow and the day coming is the one after. I do not know why it is, what was it that happened which made add a day, or erase it, maybe? I don't know if it can be explained in those terms. It is not a new thing. It happened before, many years ago. I showed up for a class certain I had a test but it was the next day. I was certain it was my fear that confused me. It was an economics class and I did not understand so much of what was said. I do not think I am afraid right now, though.  It could be there are other reasons, or it might just happen without much to explain it, at least nothing  that is important.

I am feeling as if I have turned a bit of a corner in writing flash fiction, though that is not to suggest that I am overly enamored with the stories I am writing.  At this point, I think I am at the level where I can trust myself to find the story.  I do think that I am honing some of my other instincts, developing my capacity for writing details that matter into the story and weaving multiple layers of meaning into the narrative.  The shift that has occurred, though, is still important enough that I want to recognize and celebrate it, because it is the shift from feeling like I have no idea what I am doing to at least being confident that I can do it, even if only at a certain level of proficiency so far.  I have noticed other things that are changing in the writing, as I suggested above, and I am excited to find myself making more interesting choices in these stories.  It is simply a matter of continuing down this path, I know, of keeping at it day after day.  Each individual piece

You ask me and I cannot answer I do not know at all. I haven't remembered the exact cause, the thoughts that were there. It doesn't matter to me,  is the truth.  It matters to you, though, that I can explain. You think you know, I am sure, and want your intuition reinforced. I wish you would not play those games, but I can't tell you that.  It is so human. I do wish you would not judge or presume. There are many things that come out. It is not always real or exact, that is not always the intention,  even if I want to be true and honest. There is sometimes more to it. Not everything is reflected in the record.

I do think that I might be starting to get into some kind of actual groove with the flash fiction.  Maybe that is wishful thinking, but I do feel like I am getting better and that the stories I am writing feel like they are developing in interesting ways.  I still have a tendency to think of a flash piece as a sort of tableau that implies the larger story, but I think that I am expanding beyond that particular approach.  I think that the stories I wrote tonight and last night represent a movement in another direction, and I am quite excited about that.

You heard it too I went towards the sounds and tried to discover what was happening, even though I was afraid, was thinking  it might be something besides fireworks. I had no reason to expect it was fireworks, not in November.  I had no reason to not be concerned it was another use of gunpowder. I pay attention and know the world is not simple or safe. Still, I went outside to be certain what it was. I suppose that might be dumb, except it was nothing, really, or I think it was nothing. I will tell you I didn't see fireworks, or anything else at all.

I feel like the story I wrote tonight represents a kind of progress in my journey.  It felt a bit more complicated, in some ways, though it was still largely the same kind of thing as many of the pieces I have been writing.  There was certainly more of a plot, but I know it also didn't really have a major conflict in it, though I could argue that, to be honest.  I think there is still a great deal that I need to learn, but I am glad to have a sense that I am getting there, slowly but surely.  A major point of writing each day for me is to learn and grow as a writer.  The work, the product of my efforts, that is important as well, of course, and the effort I make in writing is always with that in mind, and not some kind of practice effort, but the goal of becoming a better writer each day is a major drive for my efforts.  

I did not like that place with what was there and what was not and you will excuse it, though I know it is a kindness and an effort to calm me, to keep me from upset, and I know that is a problem, that it is no good for you, either, that it bothers and hurts, and I want to become different and not need, be, grow, that is true.  It would be better, would improve all of it. It means something, my knowing, my saying it, writing it, thinking through these parts.  I say that but you will be right, too, when you think it means nothing to speak about it.  I am working, though.  That is true, too. It is not only words, but I know there is more, and that it is not enough, do not know that it can be, that I believe it can all shift. I did not that place, though. I tried to let that go. Even this poem was not about that any longer.

 I think that I often have a tendency when writing flash to try and come up with a strong premise that can carry the whole piece.  This is a strategy that makes sense, though it can make it more difficult to think up an idea of what to write.  My bigger concern is that it often feels as if it leads towards somewhat gimmicky stuff, where the story is mainly driven by the revelation of some twist or secret in the situation.  Of course, in writing flash it is important to be able to keep things somewhat simple, I suppose, because of the limits of the format, though simple is, perhaps, the wrong word.  I need to trust that I can get more done in these pieces, I think, and I am certain that is something that will develop as I grow in my experience and confidence within the medium, but the fact of my awareness around this, is, I think, itself a positive sign.

I do not seek out more for covering this form or to find distractions I might add, irrelevancies to entice or amuse. They only decorate, though there is the story told, there is the nature of reflections and the implications of a presence. Nothing remains outside, nothing is disconnected, though each has an identity. There is not a way apart without a recognition. I hold it, too.  I will find what is for me, what waits here that I would choose to carry.

I tried to just throw myself into a story again tonight and it worked to an extent.  I was certainly able to find a character with a voice and a situation for them, and I think there was an emotional resonance built in to all of it.  The problem was that I didn't have a strong sense of where to take things, of what might actually happen to develop a plot beyond the one implied by the situation itself.  I think that I often consider a story as a whole, and I want to be able to think of a strong and cohesive plot.  I was able to put together something that might work, though I will likely take a bit more time with it at some point, trying to push it a bit further and make some of it clearer.  As I have said before, I think that the best way for me to develop these skills is by keeping up with my writing practice.  It has been around two weeks since I began, and I am still just starting out with writing flash fiction, but even just over this time I know I have been making progress and

It must be accomplished, and soon It might be better to tell you all of it but I don't think you will listen and maybe it will scare you, maybe it will present too much of what is wrong. I am not going to pretend there isn't damage or that it is all fine and good, that there is anything much I wish to celebrate about it right now. It needs to change and get better, I keep saying, it needs to be different than this, to become, to transform.  That is what I want.  I know my desire is not enough, and, worse, there is an expectation, a desire turning towards a need. I told you, it is not a good thing.  I am not going to be alright unless it changes.  I should be clear about it and tell you, should make certain you understand.  There are stakes and there is danger.  Even to explain, though, that may be too much.  It might break everything if I reveal it all, but I do wish you understood. There are many reasons I have, many fears  that will not quiet themselves or wait, and, also, to

Tonight's effort feels as if it fell between last night and the night or two before it.  I was feeling rather stuck, with no real sense of what to write, so I decided to try and write something that drew from that sense of being stuck and not being certain what to do with the work.  I've tried this tactic before, as I often will write poems that begin with an acknowledgement that I am stuck and move from that into whatever else, but I hadn't been finding it as helpful when writing flash fiction.  Tonight, though, I feel like I used the lesson that I learned last night by taking elements that are real and twisting them to create something new and a bit different. 

I must tell him We made a choice and it is done and he should know. I should tell him. It should be easy to let him know. I do not like him or care very much what he thinks. I already know he will disagree, because I am not choosing him and his way of doing things. I don't know why I am afraid of it.  Maybe it is because I already think of him as a real bully.

Last night, as I said, I had a great deal of difficulty coming up with an idea for a flash piece.  Today, I was able to think of one based on losing some stuff around the house, turning it kind of absurdist and running with that.  I think it went well, at least in terms of having the idea.  I still recognize that the stories I am writing are often quite thin at the moment.  I am beginning to recognize some of the issues and to understand how I might do things differently, in stead.  As I have said many times before, the only way that I know to get better is through practice, and the only practice there is for writing is writing more, and I am certainly doing that.

I hope it all goes well tomorrow but I do not expect that. I am more realistic, I think, though it could be pessimism, that would not be unreasonable. It seems like when I expect better it is always a mistake. I need to just be open, to not have expectations. If only I did not have desires, already.

The last few nights before this, my writing of flash fiction had gone relatively well, at least in terms of being able to start the piece.  Tonight, I was a bit less prepared.  I suppose that is to be expected, but I had been hopeful after my recent successes.  In the end, I wrote about trying to write the story and my difficulty getting started.  As I have said before, this is often a tactic that I use writing poetry, but I know it doesn't work as well for fiction, except in the most literal and basic sense of getting past the blank page.  At the moment, I am still pushing myself to really establish this as a daily practice, so getting something written is still the only real priority.  Still, I know I need to find better tools for dealing with the issue, or perhaps just figure out a way to alter how I use this one so it is a bit more helpful.  In any event, I did the writing and that is the most important thing right at the moment.

I was quite slow about starting It was fear.  I was afraid. It shouldn't have been that way, there was no great danger, not any chance of harm. I cannot explain it except as fear, though, as being afraid of starting. I wish I could be free of that. I had expected it would change after all this time, had thought I would learn and know, but it still happens, and far too often, as well.

I am starting to reach a point, I suppose, where writing flash fiction has almost become just a normal part of my daily practice.  It still isn't quite that natural, yet, but I am getting to that point, I think.  I believe that analyzing the experiences I have been having with it on this blog has been helpful with that integration, as it has pushed me to recognize the progress I am making and to pay attention to the shifts.  It is clear that I am getting close to a point where I will be able to sit down and write a short piece of fiction without needing to worry about what I am planning to write in advance, as I have discussed before, and my writing about it has made me aware that what makes me most hesitant each night is the fear of not being certain I will have a story.  As I've become more used to improvising one, I have found my anxieties around writing flash fiction easing, which also, I believe, allows me to do better work in writing those stories.  Anyhow, that is how it

Encounter I had not expected quite so deep or true or close, had not been aware  that was the real art. I knew what I saw but that is nothing. That is the surface. There is what you hold and take inside, there is the heart of it all which is there but also secret, and now I am here on the side where it is known, where the shape of it is known.  I have understood, when I return to what is here, it is not  what it was, is another thing, and something else, again.

Tonight, I was feeling a bit uncertain about the flash piece, as has been the case most nights, really, but I thought about it for a bit and decided that the best solution was just to start writing whatever came to mind as the starting point, and after just a few minutes I was well into the scene.  Again, I do not know how much I think I have really accomplished in writing these stories, beyond getting to a place where I can start without a clear inspiration, but that is itself a huge thing, I feel.  In the end, it makes it possible for me to keep practicing at my current pace, and I think that writing is the thing that will teach me the most.  

I should have sent you all of the information but I have been waiting There is no reason, no good one or practical one. Nothing that is real. I think it is fear which has slowed me. I think I will learn there are limits that I do not want. I am hoping, still, am waiting  and being hopeful. I am afraid that is no good, that it is just foolish. I have expectations, now, have dreamed too far. I don't want to know. I can send the information and you will have answers. Nothing will change with what you say, the possibilities are already static. I am afraid to know. I would rather do nothing and have it seem possible. I know that is no good, that it is not alright, that how things are is not alright, but what good is making it better if it is not the things that matter which are fixed?

Today was the second time that I just jumped in to writing a flash piece without a very strong sense of what I was planning to do, and it seemed to work.  Last night, I just began with a bit of dialogue that came to mind, tonight it was just a situation, or maybe it was actual the first line describing the situation.  In any event, I feel like I am getting over the first major hurdle in developing this new daily flash fiction practice, which is reaching the point of being certain I can write something each day.  I knew, at least in some sense, that I could, if only because I went through a similar kind of period when I started writing daily in general.  I actually only started writing daily, at first, because I was working on a novel and so I knew what I would be writing about when I started.  It kept me from feeling as if I didn't have any idea what I was going to put down when I started.  Even if I was a bit stuck on a specific scene or something, I had a general sense of what ne

That was good luck and I am glad for it, though it seems small considering the things that luck does  for others.  I don't know if it is silly to think that way, but I know too much, have paid attention. I won't pretend it is nothing, but do not tell me to think of it as everything, either. 

I am starting to get comfortable with just beginning to write a flash piece with less certainty of what I am doing.  It is far easier to write a story, I think, if I have a good sense of the general structure, but when I am trying to just come up a new flash piece every day, that can make it a bit difficult.  Sure, there are times when I might have an idea that already has the shape of a story, but I realize that I can't rely on that if I am planning to be writing a new piece each day.  Tonight I just thought up a line of dialogue and followed it into a story.  I don't know that there is a lot to what I wrote, if I am honest.  At the moment, I am not really all that confident about most of the flash fiction I've been writing.  I think that becoming more comfortable in the format will let me also develop and grow within it.  As I mentioned last night, working on new pieces each day feels like it is helpful in developing my awareness as a fiction writer in general, and the le

I forgot what was there so I didn't think of it or want it.  Then I found it waiting and now it is in my mind. It wasn't there at all before this.  It was nothing.  I didn't think about it again, not yesterday or the day before. Tonight, I know, though. Tonight, it is in my head and I am not certain that I can escape that.