Contemporaneous: Chapter 1
I sit in front of the computer, typing these words without much idea of where they’ll go. Not that there aren’t ideas. There are always ideas. I’ve never had any problem with ideas. But they came with the promise of anticipation. Two published but underperforming novels later, that anticipation isn’t so buoyant anymore. It’s a jaded and resigned prick – if it was a barfly, it’d be the old drunk who rambles about how good things used to be, and sees no merit in the future. Procrastination’s easier too. Check social media that doesn’t need checking. Play 2 on 2 Open Ice Challenge on the PC arcade emulator that sits…
30
I lay awake, sinking into the typical nightly routine. Thoughts. Scrambled. Different streams that intermingle and grow muddy. Even though my thinking has always been manic, I used to be so disciplined. I could direct my focus. But either my brain doesn’t have the same capacity it used to, or I have much more to try to keep ordered, or it’s a combination of both and all that remains is a tired sort of anarchy. I used to think lots more about my writing. That would override everything else. Narrative would write itself in my head. But that voice is softer now. Or perhaps it’s not as insistent, or zealous.…