Would That I Might

I tried a kind of free writing exercise this evening when I was working on my fiction.  It was a change for me, as I don't normally use that type of process, at least not lately; there are certainly times when I have experimented with free writing, either on my own or as part of a workshop.  I have found it helpful, at times, but not necessarily great as a way to find a coherent story or anything of that sort.  I think that it did kind of work for me tonight, though the piece feels a bit vague and might need a bit more work before it feels truly completed.  Still, I can't help but think it suggests that I might be at a point, now, where my story-telling instincts are developed enough that I can trust them to kick in without much prodding, thus allowing them to emerge almost by magic when I sit down and write whatever comes to mind for a few minutes as I am beginning to work on a new piece.

Visit The peafowl came by  for the first time since she  moved into the neighborhood. She has been around. We have seen her, but never here, never near our house.  Always she had stayed down the street, until now, until she came here. I have to think it is something, has a meaning, even if only that she likes the energy or finds our space calming. I do not think that is all of it, but even that would be something.

I have been writing a new piece of fiction every day for some time now.  I am using the term fiction a bit loosely, if I am honest, as some of the pieces I write draw closely from my experiences, as I have said before, but that is really kind of besides the point at the moment.  What's interesting to me is that I find that sometimes I still feel as if I am not really working in some way.  I've had to train myself, largely, to just accept that whatever I write is valid.  I put it aside and don't consider if it is good or not, at least not immediately.  Of course, I can't really avoid some degree of thought about the work and its quality.  It is natural to feel one way or another about what I've just written, but I recognize that I need to keep that separate in some sense.  In order to keep myself doing the work the way I have been, I think it is essential that I just think of the writing as a simple act that only needs to be done.

It is not a simple disagreement I do not know if you would hear what I say as anything but wrong and silly, as fear and idiocy, but one day it might be clear, when it is too late, when it has turned enough you notice. I do not envy the day  you realize that. It will not change that you have betrayed us, it will only mean that, at last you can understand.

I had a bit of an unpleasant experience earlier tonight and I am still thinking about it.  I went to the grocery store to buy a chicken to roast for dinner tomorrow.  I was walking through the store, passing the frozen food aisle, when a teenage girl looked at me and shouted, "disgusting," then started to laugh.  She was with several other young ladies, and one older woman as well, who I presume to have been someone's mother, and all of them seemed to join in when they looked at me.  I assume that it is because of my weight, even if there was some other factor involved.  The fact is, this is not even close to the first time I've had this sort of experience, not even the first this week.

It could not be solved It could be discussed and promises could be made as if that matters when what was needed was a remedy for the moment, for what had already been done. But it was done. What good was saying "it will not be this way next time?" It did not change the problem, the need to resolve  current repercussions. To ask for that, for the resolution of the damage already inflicted, well that was silly, was begging for the milk to become un-spilt.

I am finding that am getting more comfortable with personal material coming through in my fiction writing.  In many ways, this is not so much my being comfortable in a sense of being willing to expose myself, but more that I feel like I am just getting more capable of telling those things without getting in my own way, if that makes sense to anyone other than me.  It may be that I really am just getting more willing to open up on the page, but it certainly feels like it is something more connected to the writing itself, at least experientially.

Yes, probably you are right and I should but I am not and won't, so that is that, even though I do understand, and it matters to me, yes, the ending, at least, though I don't think it matters for me what the specifics are accept in the way that impacts the rest, in the way it unfolds. I should, though, be more present, I guess, or willing to be a witness in those moments. I don't think it is anything I would be prepared for, or good at.  No,  that is only an excuse because I know it will be unpleasant.

I had a rather long and busy day.  We were already pretty booked, with a number of appointments and some errands to run, and then Melissa's phone broke.  It was not unexpected, as the phone was quite old and had been slowly falling apart.  Recently the screen was cracked, and today it just decided to stop displaying anything at all, so we knew we had to take care of that as quick as possible.  Fortunately, we were able to squeeze it in, but not until after we had finished up with the rest of our stuff for the day, meaning that our evening was kind of extended, as well, with our having dinner on the late side.  I am glad to say that I was able to get myself into gear to work pretty fast once we got home, as I was worried that I might find shifting gears more difficult.

Bad trajectory It does not connect What I mean is that I cannot perceive the changes here as a direct measure of movement towards those goals over there.   It doesn't seem to be one thing. I recognize that it is  what I have, is what I can  observe and measure, but it does not help, not for me. I might be wrong but I just decided I am convinced it will not be effective inside my mind.

I think that I need to work on trying to make the characters in my stories more active, though that could just be my impression of things.  It feels to me like the characters are often just in situations where things happen to them, not because they did anything to cause it.  In a lot of my stories the plot kind of falls onto the main character, which can be fun and interesting, but it also lets the main character be passive, with things just occurring to and around them.  I think that I need to start finding ways for the characters to go out and find the story instead of it just happening around them.

Again with this It was agreed and discussed and I was told and I did as I was told and now, you did not do what was needed, did not do it until too late, and so I  am expected to do it all again? I do not know. I am resisting, am upset at the idea of it, of being told it is necessary. It was hard. It is always difficult for me. And now you make it so I must do it twice. I don't like it. I want a choice that I prefer, one that means what I did was enough, that I was only asked when the proper time had arrived.

I know that there are changes developing in my writing at the moment, though it is difficult to really express just what that means or what I am sensing.  I don't have a clear sense, of course, of where things are moving, but I feel as if I am starting to open up in certain ways that I have found difficult in the past.  I think that a large part of this is just my feeling more comfortable within narrative spaces as an artist, in that my growth writing fiction has helped me to find the confidence and skill to express certain ideas and experiences that I have found challenging to depict.  That is, of course, only a partial truth, and the reality is much more about personal development, but it is harder for me to think of it in those terms, I suppose, largely because I have always protected myself, as a writer, by defending certain choices on artistic and philosophical grounds, which are not inauthentic, but which may exist, at least in part, because I was motivated to find them.  I a

I did those things they were what you asked for and they are done and I am uncertain what else to say about it, now, why it is  we are talking about this again. I don't know that there is more I can do or say. It is complete from my perspective, though I know there is more to come, only I need for you to acknowledge what already has been accomplished.

I have been working on a longer piece of fiction recently.  When I call it longer, I just mean that I keep working on it, that it is not just a piece I wrote in one setting, as with most of my recent work.  I keep adding to it each day, and I have some sense of it leading someplace, I think, but I don't really have a strong notion of where exactly.  I think that it is good for me to be doing, and I keep working on it, but I also wonder if it is actually going to come together into anything or if it will just become a rambling mess without a real point.  I could imagine that happening, but even if it did, I don't think writing it is a waste for me.

It may not be what you expect I do not know if that is true or if you have expectations, really, but I did intend it to match. I know what was discussed and I was working towards that. It may be different, though, may be a new direction and not what was wanted. I can try again, if I must, but I don't want to. I like this, even if it is something else and not what you anticipated. Maybe that is fine and won't be anything you even notice. I hope so.  That is what I would consider the best outcome/

I am feeling a little bit off tonight, as far as my writing is concerned.  There was a part of me that kind of wished I would just take the night off and not put myself through the whole process.  That does happen on occasion, and is often the result of my feeling a lack of clarity or inspiration about what I am going to write.  Lately, I've had a bit less of that, but it still happens and I have to admit that I can feel a bit tempted, at times, to just take a night off.  Usually I can fight through that, as I did tonight.  I think part of the reason is because I put my focus and pressure on taking action and doing the writing, not on the quality of the work I produce.

Progress is slow It is not good of me to be this way, and I know it would be better but it is not easy. I don't get to choose and change right away, that is not how it is. You should know that, I would guess, as a person, maybe just as alive, even. It is not simple to go from here to the next place, but I am making the journey, it is just taking time and the outcome remains uncertain.

I do not want to do that It is not going to be easy, and I don't understand how it will bring the change I actually want. It feels besides the point, at least if I am focused on what I care about. It is no good for me to say that, and I know it is not.  I know you are helping and offering an option that seems right and is real and I can take action that will matter, but I am tired and it seems difficult. I want the things that I always wanted, not alternatives or distractions, and I can't help thinking that is what we are talking about, even though I know it is a path forward. I just don't like that. I want to go forward in the direction I was already headed. Anything else feels like too much. I am think it may be that I am not willing to be alright unless it is on my own terms, and I know nothing works that way, but I don't think I can change it any more than I can alter the rest of the situation. Or is that just an excuse? I can't tell, and I don't care. I am

I decided to try working on something more overtly non-fictional tonight.  I am not certain how well it worked, and I do feel like it was a bit unfocused in some ways, largely, I suspect, because I did get a bit uncomfortable while I was writing.  I chose something that is personal and difficult for me, though I have talked about it before.  I don't know that I expected to be able to write something that was perfect, but it feels like I am moving towards something right now, that I am learning to be a bit less guarded and more straight-forward, at least with some of my writing. 

Quality I cannot be certain that it is right or good but it was different, which is its own value. It is not the same as the rest, and means nothing in some ways, is indirect, but still matters to what else  will be.

Recently, I have found myself writing some more personal pieces of fiction.  They aren't exactly true stories, I would say, but they definitely draw from my experiences in a more immediate way than I have often been comfortable with in the past, even though it is often still, probably, pretty abstracted from anything other people might call revealing.  I feel like these pieces represent some kind of loosening up or unblocking in terms of my willingness to explore aspects of my own life and experience, which is a positive thing in and of itself, even setting aside my sense that these might actually be good pieces of writing inherently.

I can hear it all but I don't want to listen but what is the point of saying I do not  want to listen when I still hear  everything you are saying, when I stay put and don't go.

It is rather early for me to be finishing up my work, but I have been tired, so I decided to take a bit of time earlier today and used it to work on my fiction for today.  I had considered doing my other writing as well, but I had other things to do that I needed to prioritize right then.  I had considered that I might just wait and do the rest of my writing later in the evening as I generally do, but as I said, I have been tired and I think it will be good for me if I can get to sleep on the early side for a change, and now that my writing is done, I don't have anything much else that I need to get done tonight.

It has gotten late on me tonight, so I am just going to keep this short with a quick check in to say that I did my writing.  I wrote a story that I feel good about.  In some ways, it is just sort of silly and fun, but underneath I think it is attempting something more than that, and I think the absurdity in it is being used in a way that is not without meaning or intention.  Whether it works or not is a different question, of course, but I feel good about it tonight, which is something that I am learning to value.

Too much must be done and I am not good at doing it. Even simple things, even the things I want to do. I do not know what to say about it. It is fear, probably, and, also, habit, and there is more, too, I am certain that is true. If only understanding would get me to act, but I think all the time and now I wonder if analyzing what is wrong is just another way I keep myself busy without getting anywhere.

I am feeling quite tired tonight, which is why I am doing my work so early.  This way I can finish up and go to bed earlier.  I think that will be better than trying to take a nap, as that often results in my sleep cycle just getting out of whack.  I do feel like the work I did tonight is quite good, and the story moved into a different space than a lot of my other work, as it was fundamentally realistic and largely drawn from my life, both of which aren't usually the first qualities that come to mind about my work.  Of course, it is still written in a way that reflects my impulses in terms of how it is executed, so it is not as if I suddenly wrote a piece of straight-ahead traditional narrative.  In any event, I feel like it might be quite good, actually, and cannot help but wonder if the fact that it is more grounded might provide a positive opportunity to submit it to places that aren't always interested in the type of more fanciful stuff I usually write.

I am sorry I have not replied Do not take it as a lack of interest or judge things based on that. It is hard for me. I get overwhelmed, anxious, trying to deal with these things, and my mind has not been in it. I've had to step back for my own mental wellbeing, as it might be said in certain contexts. I want to communicate, want to reach out, but it takes energy and I don't have it now. I can only imagine telling you this and hope you are a good enough friend that you will understand my message from its absence.

I was a bit surprised at the way that the story I was writing worked out tonight.  It was an idea that I had been tossing around for a few days and was still uncertain about, at least in terms of how to start and get it going, but I think I did a decent job of putting it together.  In a way, if I am honest, it is a rather distant and disembodied piece, in a way that reminds me a bit of some of the stories by Borges, which can feel a bit like they are describing a piece he never had a chance to actually work on.  Once I had an idea of how to get myself into it, I really didn't have a great deal of difficulty writing it, but I was kind of surprised by the way it wound up ending.  There is a kind of twist that makes sense to me but which I hadn't really considered, and it is kind a meta-twist, reframing things in a way that is more about the story as a thing the reader is experiencing than it does about the actual events or plot.  It was nothing I had expected or considered and ju

It goes too fast, maybe or I am not careful enough. I don't want to be that way. It is not as if I don't think or make an effort.  I just fail. Maybe that is worse?   I do not know.  Is it better if I am not trying?   Is that more acceptable than ineptitude. It feels better, to be honest. I would pretend it was just a lack  in my motivation or an unwillingness to try harder, but I care enough it hurts  I can't do better.

Recently, the stories I am writing have been largely just me playing around one way or another.  That is fine, and I feel like I often figure out things when I am writing these kinds of stories, but I also have some thoughts in my head for more complicated pieces that I am hoping to get to soon.  I know that I may need to let some of them percolate for a little bit, but I also need to keep the pressure on so that I don't just let things drift away without putting the inspiration to use.

I can't say that or let anyone through those doors, can't open up in such ways. It would become cruel, would reveal what you do not need to know. There is no good in that direction. It is nothing. I am certain. You should trust me. Do not ask the questions I don't wish to answer, just trust me, just allow me to decide. I am confident I will do all those right things.

I wrote another story about something being evil tonight.  It is not a great premise, but I keep finding myself playing around with it.  I suppose it is kind of a silly, fun, concept, and also something that I can always turn to for a story.  The one tonight was a bit different, as it was based on a friend of mine many years ago who named her toaster and claimed it was on a mission of world domination, so the idea didn't come from me scrambling for an idea.  The thing is, I am not really sure how I feel about writing these stories that feel very similar in some ways.  On one hand, I do not want to just keep writing the same things over and over, but on the other, I know every writer has there themes and I can also recognize that these stories vary a great deal, even when they have a certain overlap.  The real truth is, though, that I think I am better off not even concerning myself with this, at least right now, because it can only be the kind of thing that gets into my head when I

I understand why and that is progress, I do realize that is an improvement, but it does not change things. It confirms them. If anything, it confirms that they cannot change, and I am still here, am still the same, still in this place. It is not changing and I cannot be alright if it does not change. What good is knowing  there are reasons?

Feeling rather tired tonight, and, if I am honest, I can admit that I sort of phoned it in a bit with my fiction.  I still wrote what I intend to, but I felt like I just kept it pretty superficial for the most part and didn't really commit to going all the way with what I was writing, but I guess that is natural at times.  As I said, I am quite tired already, and I was well before I started my writing tonight.  It is probably necessary and natural, just a way of balancing the other nights when I have felt almost the opposite about my efforts.

It took too long to make dinner tonight but it was good, at least, and I did not dally. It could not be helped, under the circumstances, and it was not the plan, not the real plan. At least it was only too long and too late, at least it was good and could be eaten and enjoyed. 

One of the challenges of writing as much as I do, at least for me, is that I am always kind of in the process of figuring out something new and pushing forwards, and that means that I very often find the work I am doing changing in ways that can make it difficult to reconsider older efforts.  As well, I do have times when I will get stuck working through something again and again, writing various stories that might all revolve around some particular thing I cannot get a grasp on in some way.  Really, none of these things are actually a problem in any deep sense, but it can be difficult to assess the work that I am doing in the moment, though it would be nice to feel more confident in my capacity to assess the fiction that I am writing.

There is a disaster or maybe that is too much, the word is too strong for what happened. I wasn't there, I only heard. Things get exaggerated, don't they, at least they can. But I heard it was bad, it was a disaster, or maybe that is my word. I don't know that it was used, not quite. Emergency? That might be right, or else it was just a description of the damage and the response, and questions of what is next, and if the plans must be changed.

I have been thinking a lot about what it would take to really be in a good position in terms of getting an agent or editor interested in my work.  Now, I want to be clear that I mean this in the least artistic sense possible, at least right now.  This is about the business side, really, and not so much about the specifics of my work itself, and that is kind of absurd, maybe, but I think that it is a helpful thing for me to try and consider that aspect at the moment.  Anyhow, in looking into this I have been trying to think about the question of what makes a book successful for a publisher, and that, obviously, is largely connected to the number of copies that a work sells.  What is surprising is that when you look into the specifics on bestsellers, the actual numbers feel quite a bit more achievable than one would anticipate.  For example, to hit the New York Times Bestseller List a book needs to sell in excess of 5,000 copies over a week, which is significant and more difficult than o

It all is turning, again rotates forward to be a bit more, to reach the next, and that seems good, I guess, or right, anyhow, seems to be the positive result, the way forward. I wish it felt realer, or more tangible, clearer, and, could it sparkle? It is not simple, is not a hat to put on or take off again when styles change. There is no return, no back and forth, not once it is done. In the journey, there can be moments, the feeling of hesitancy or faltering, but there is a permanence in the steps that remain behind.

I have been having a lot of fun playing around with that concept of writing excuses for not writing stories and taking it towards absurd directions.  Tonight, I felt I did something quite good, especially since the story itself was built around having difficulty writing and around specific anxieties that I, as a writer, often do face.  In particular, it was about the idea of repeating old ideas, which is something that I have found myself thinking about quite a bit lately.  I mentioned that I wrote a story recently which was based on a poem that I wrote decades ago, and I also recognize that certain themes and ideas do come back up again and again in my fiction.  That is all normal, but so is the desire, at least for me, to run from that, to try and keep being fresh or new.  Beyond it being normal, I would guess it is largely inevitable, especially as one keeps going, but so is the anxiety of reaching a point where there is nothing new to say or do.  The thing for me is, I think, to re

I do not trust myself but I don't trust anything else, really, not in this case, and maybe it is not trust, maybe I do trust myself, but I learned this, learned something I can't let go of even now that it is bad for me, is harming me, limiting, restraining, I can still raise up, I think, can stand and walk and begin, maybe. I do not know. I think there is a path, but I do not know and I am not certain. I need to decide if I am ready for that, and I know I should be, but that is not enough, even if I wish it were.

I have gotten a lot better at pushing myself to go further in my stories.  There are often points when I am writing where I feel like I have the central idea and the place where I want to take it.  In the past, I would generally be good just reaching that point, which is not a bad thing, really, but lately I have found that I am often getting there and recognizing that there is something in that end point that is worth exploring, and so I wind up taking things to someplace else that I hadn't expected.  It is happening more and more, which I just take as a positive sign that I am getting to a deeper place, generally, with my fiction.

A new plan I think it is a possibility but I do not know if it is good or right or would work and I am afraid but I am already afraid of the way it is and not knowing, not doing, not having a way forward. This is something and it might be good. I can think it through, can think about it once and then twice and more times than that, but thinking is not enough. There is no way of judging what can happen, what will be, but it is a way to take action. That is, maybe, what matters. I do not know, but that is nothing different.

 The story I wrote tonight surprised me.  I didn't really have an idea for it when I sat down and the general premise came to me very quick, but it lead me into an interesting place, I think.  I actually went back and added to the ending of it before I worked on this blog.  The original ending was fine, but the new one kind of pushes the story a bit further, I think, in a way that I believe helps it to feel more finished, even though the new bit doesn't really change anything, it is just a bit more direct, and I think that works in this case, but if I do decide  I am wrong, I can always go back to how it was to begin with.

I found a shape It was not there until I found it, but I found it in the thing itself, found it waiting, even if  it was not there. That is how it works, is the only way it could happen. It must be imposed, but the imposition must be one that reflects what was present and necessary. I do not know how to be clearer. It will make sense, but only when it was already understood.

I decided to try and get my work done early tonight as I am already rather tired.  I've not slept all that well recently, even more so than my usually lack of sleep.  It is stress, I am sure, though I am not quite certain what I can do about it in the moment.  The best thing I can think to do is try and give myself time to unwind and rest, and I thought that might be easier if I weren't up until all hours getting my writing done for once.

Will it be I do not know what to expect and I am anxious, am scared, really. It is the only way, right now.  There was no other way.  That was not allowed. It was prevented, and now there is such uncertainty. I want to be hopeful, want to have a belief it can be this way, that the path leads forward. I do not know and hope is no longer enough to build upon.

The story I wrote tonight was a bit different than most of the ones I have been coming up with recently.  It was far more grounded and didn't include anything that was all that uncanny or otherwise strange, which is already not in line with most of my fiction, but even more than that, I felt like it was a fairly restrained piece in terms of technique and tone, as well.  I think that it does still feel much closer to most of my other writing than I probably can recognize, but it definitely felt like I was pushing myself in a different direction for this one.

You know already and, I admit it, I know, have known. I do not like it and will not be able to change what it means, or how I will be impacted.  I do not know what else to say. I do not like it, but that is true and nothing I feel control over. I don't want to have it be this way, have tried to avoid it, but the only way for it be better is for it to be better.

As I mentioned last night, I began working on some submissions for a journal that has a themed call out for stories involving the theme of flooding.  I wrote a piece last night that I like, but which I also know is pretty strange and might feel disjointed.  Tonight, though, I wound up doing something that feels a bit strange to me, because I was kind of writing a piece that I had already written years ago.  You see, earlier today I remembered a narrative poem I wrote when I was in college where the story ended with the character causing a gigantic flood.  The central concept felt really appropriate for this submission, but there was something a bit odd about going back to what feels like a used idea, or maybe it felt more like just stealing from my past self in some way, but the truth is that it was always my own idea, and I am a far better writer now than I was at that age, at least I like to believe that is true considering the amount of time and effort I've sunk into my work sin

Maintaining the fidelity I forgot, but then I remembered and I went back and did  what I was supposed to, though I will admit it was only a small effort, was not a great deal, but it was enough to at least be done, at least enough to be symbolic, to represent that I did it, that I continued. It is important to have that, at least it is to me or for me or with me, is a key to how I keep going, how I continue. I do not know if it that is true or just the way I imagine it, but it is true enough, has been good, has worked, has been my way and I do not want to test that. It works enough, at least in the ways that it does work.

I am preparing some fiction submissions and one of the journals that came up as a possible market for my work has a prompt for there next issue related to floods and flooding, so I decided to try and write some stuff specifically with that theme.  It is a fairly broad prompt, which I find helpful, personally, but I have to admit that the first story that I wrote tonight felt a bit disjointed, maybe, or uncentered, perhaps.  I feel like it was trying to get somewhere, but it was too much of the trying, to be honest.  I have time to work on more stuff, and it may be that I am wrong and this story works in some ways that I am missing at the moment, or at least I am keeping optimistic about that as a possibility.

If it is to happen First, you must understand: it scares me.  It is not what I want to do, and I know it will not go well, will not go right, if I can't do it with care, with intention. It must be more, must be better. I know that. I understand what is required, and I need to know it is possible, that when you speak of caring and being present, that it is not only words, that you can mean them in a way that will matter for me, and not only the one that soothes  your ego.

I am trying to think about how to get my stories to move in some different ways at the moment.  This isn't to suggest that I am not happy with the work I've been doing, but I realized tonight that a lot of my stories just end up with long conversations and not a huge amount of action, really.  I think there is a value in that, and I feel like a lot of those stories work very well, but I also recognize that I can do more and different things by finding ways to vary that.  It isn't that I don't want to be able to utilize dialogue of the sort I have been, but rather a way to push myself and diversify my skill set.  Besides, I never can say what I will discover or learn to create when I push myself outside my own mental boxes.

What can be? What is left that can be what it was  meant to be, what was wanted, pursued, all that. whatever words there are to say it. There is something that was and it seems gone, seems over, seems lost, and that is not fine or alright or any good at all, and I can't say it is even true, but I feel something, don't you notice or is it not a thing, is just my own trick, my deceptions, another delusion taken in the way it can be taken. I don't have answers but it feels this way and I am afraid. I don't have the strength for such burdens, not these days, not after what has come, not when the reasons will be gone too late.

One thing that I have certainly found in writing fiction is that I can really embrace a certain kind of playfulness in that work.  That element was always something that I had in my poetry, as well, but I feel like I am learning to let it kind of guide my fiction in a way that feels very exciting to me.  What is really wonderful, and it probably shouldn't be surprising, is that this play seems to be letting me discover new ideas and approaches that I can take as a writer.  Now, I want to be clear that when I call these "new," that is in terms of my own work, not as anything about these ideas in a larger sense, but I can say that they feel fresh and true to my artistic impulses.  Play is letting me get closer, I think, to something, is freeing me to find something authentic that feels like it is my own.

Are you back or not yet and if you are why is it that I don't know already?  I suppose it is not for me to know, that it is not anything I am owed, but I am curious, and it seems, I have expectations. I don't know why or where to put them or how to be careful about that in the future. It happened, though, and now I have questions and the need for answers, too.

I feel good about finishing up my work early tonight.  I'm feeling pretty tired, to be honest, and I have had a busy day, to be certain.  I also have to say that I am pretty happy with the story I wrote tonight.  It was something that I was just improvising and I wasn't really certain that it would actually work, but I feel like I managed to do something kind of interesting in it, though I find it hard to explain precisely what I mean right now.  The thing is, it was a very short piece, one that was premised on the idea that I was writing an excuse for not having written a story tonight, and it just started with me describing that I didn't know what had happened and why I hadn't written this story or what the story even was, and built from there, but there is a point when the narrator kind of goes into a sort of fantastical tangent, and it is clear and explicit that this is just imaginary, yet somehow it comes back around into the story by the end and is not being treat

It has to be this I do it but it is  not enough and I know there is more or maybe just the same but in ways that matter and are not the ways I know. I don't have any answer other than what I said and did and do and say and continue without knowing, without it being anything but more and not answer, not yet, anyhow, but it is  what I know and can do, it is what is clear. There is  nothing else I know of, not another way.