Washington Green Apples

Got to take them books back. He can be so hornery about them books. Better I just lose them and take the amnesty.

Sitting at the desk I wait for inspiration. I wait some more. Nothing done, but an expert in waiting. I die an old unfulfilled man.

Not enough time to do anything worthwhile. Two weeks gone so quickly and nothing to show except heat exhaustion.

A man sits at the piano playing melancholic tunes. The detective comes over. They leave together without struggle.

Who wants to buy a four by four. Export to Afghanistan for rough terrain use. Keep the population under control.

The cap wearing man walked ahead of me into the darkness surrounding the car. The siren wailed. The bodies were pulled in their alabaster tones.

In spite of what I said in this blog a few months ago about doing Nanowrimo 2009, I NEVER DID IT. I did not start in spite of doing this time an immense amount of prep and outlining. I’ve concluded that novel writing, even long short stories are not for me, at least not for the current time.

I’m more comfortable with poetry and script writing. It’s more fun and rewarding for me so there you go. So Nanowrimo has helped me clarify my thinking on my writing practice and that’s a good thing. Doing what you want rather than what you feel you should.

The noise of the fan never stopped. I pulled the plug. We had meltdown in five minutes. I alone survived.

“You never needed to walk away”, she said.

“You made my decision inevitable”, he replied.

“You never would accept the blame.”

“I rest my case.”

“Will all those waiting for the arrival of flight 911 please assemble at the rendezvous point,” the announcer bellowed.