Gave up drankin’, ya’ll, and my writing has badly suffered the effects. As life finds a more even keel, it appears that my dark imaginings are in full rebellion. Those in the know insist that this, too, will pass…that my ideas will return with fervor, rich and vivid, enhanced by a clearer intellect and attention to detail. I try not to balk, shudder, or grit my teeth in that tight, tense, “sure they will” smile. Yet others insist that my musings will take a turn toward more wholesome pursuits. ::shudder:: Whichever the case may be, for now life is far more likely to find me reading fiction rather than producing it. I try not to dwell. Perhaps, soon, I will climb atop the dark horse of horror and ride her bareback into the depths of Mordor.
Also, my beloved laptop has just returned after months on the fritz. Exactly what I get for bingeing on Youtube vids and whiskey at 4 in the morning while claiming to be “creating art” on a played-out zombie tale. Who was I fooling but myself? I could barely string together two coherent thoughts, much less a body of fiction worth a squirt of piss. Haaah!
Perhaps I shall start here…again. A few, dark, halting sentences, thoughts, half thoughts, ideas… Maybe.