I quit being a 'professional' writer (whatever that means) at the end of September, and...I've coughed up more writing in the past half month than I have in the past year.
...well. been a while.
on Twitter I pretend to be a human.
here, I just pretend to be a writer. it's infinitely easier.
not entirely sure where I was going with this, but I think I got there. (but, y'know, poetry. subjective.)
sometimes you write a #poem and you're exhausted. I think that's a good thing, in a way.
after a 12-hour battle with a migraine (ps: I won), I can still cough up a nice little tanka or two. skizzilz, baby.
my chiefest inspiration. https://writing.exchange/media/V4KJFpDmk4irJQi48iw
Tired of being sick, sick of being tired, and tired and totally sick of watching all this sick-and-tiredness suck up my inspiration.
question: is an ambulance and/or hospital emergency room good for inspiration?
answer: yeah nah.
I realise that finding faceclaims for my characters is...well, for me, pretty inconsequential in the long run, but darn if it doesn't make me a happy writer.
moanings about writings. all the writings. all the moanings.