Penny in the Rain

I don’t even have to think about the day and know it’s going to be rough.  Why is that?  Getting up so many times . . .

It was hard enough getting up at one AM and then trying to fall back asleep, but then the rain started about four.  Not just rain, but a thunder shower.  I haven’t heard thunder in a while, actually:  before I left home we were having something of a mini-drought, and though there’d been tons of rain in the spring, the summer had seen fit to shut it all down.  So a decided lack of thunder, you know?

Not here.  The storm started right about four and kept at it for about a half hour.  There were times when it sounded like it was right outside my window, but that was probably my imagination–or sound echoing off the mountain ridge a couple of miles away.  It was loud, and it wasn’t going to let me sleep.

Which I haven’t.  I may have dozed off for about thirty minutes at some point, but I was wide awake and not dreaming at six-ten, so I decided to get up, have breakfast, and start working on this post.

I would certainly love to have one good night’s sleep, since it seems as if I haven’t had one all summer long.

This story that’s been running through my head for the last month–I’m trying to clear it out so I can concentrate on other things.  After much consideration, I do not want to begin writing another erotic fantasy story that is going to feel like more of the same.  More of the, “Yeah, I’ve done this already,” feeling that is as bad for your ego and motivation that deliberately setting out to write crap.  I’ve done that last, and ended up with a novella.  I set out to write a novella, and I end up with a fifty-two thousand word novel.

Ideas that eventually aren’t that interesting go in the bin.  Maybe time for them at some point down the road, but not now, not here.

My imagination seems lacking in a way these days.  I suppose it’s the new surroundings and the job and the living out of hotel conditions.  Or maybe there’s something waiting to spring, getting ready to burst out and take over.  Between the last sentence, and the one before that, I actually paused for about a minute because a thought came into my head about an idea I had for a story last year.  There were only two words, but I hadn’t thought of those words in probably a year now.

That’s strange how that works.  Random thoughts popping into your head like that.  Almost as if the idea is trying to tell you something . . .

Tonight, I see an apartment, I get something to eat, and I sit down and brain storm some daddy issues.  The last I may have a handle on–oh, and they’re not my issues, but the issues of a character.

If they don’t make you crazy, it’s probably because they already are.