Raindrops keep falling on my cat
But that doesn’t mean I ought to wear her like a hat
Nothing seems to fit
‘Cause she keeps crawling off my
She keeps crawling off my head…
Yesterday’s word count: 50
Didn’t have a great day yesterday. It’s hard to write when your brain fights against you every step of the way. It’s just a combination of everything and a healthy dollop of Writer’s Doubt on top of it. Not Writer’s Block, but the sure and certain knowledge that every single word I write is absolute shit, no part of it is redeemable and the world would be a better place if I just stopped. Again.
(A lot of people would agree with the last part of that.)
I keep telling my brain that I’m not actually planning on letting anyone see this story. I fully agree that the world is a better place without my writing, but I’d like to be able to do it in the privacy of my own laptop nonetheless. Hopefully soon it’ll agree with me and I’ll be able to write more than a couple of hundred words. It’d be a lot more productive than dumping ridiculous song lyrics into my head every time I walk into the kitchen at any rate. The above is an example of what I got when I went to use the oven.
I don’t even know why it can do that but not provide an even marginally coherent narrative. Possibly because there’s only me in the kitchen, not me, a dog, a cat, three loud birds and my mother. No, I can’t get away with writing in the kitchen. The table’s too high (or the benches are too low) and it’s in desperate need of a tidy.
Well, no point in whining, even if there is only me here (and the crickets, of course). It’ll either get done or it won’t, and it’s right now looking like it’s veering towards “won’t.”