Please don’t kill me, but I started over again. >_< I know, I know, I just need to write the fucker. JUST WRITE IT, STEPH! But I have had this story for so long in my head, and there are things I’ve forgotten. Old loam at the bottom of the soil that is the story’s fertile ground. I remembered what had sparked the original story, and I knew I had to start over again.
It’s the house buying. It’s disrupted me. My brain isn’t where it used to be.
I am happy with this intro. It feels natural. The other felt forced and artificial. Tasted like plastic and ozone. This one tastes like chocolate and blood. Mmmm. Chocolate.
I’m sorry, please forgive me. But I feel like I have it now. I do, I do.
Argh. I know I said I wouldn’t do this, but…I must write the story I must write. I have that leisure. No editor holding a gun to my head. And the other I just sort of pushed through because I knew I had to do something. Because I was desperate at that point in my life to do something.
Now I’m at a serene spot, and I’m doing the right thing instead. Does that make any sense?
Paint fumes are rotting my brain.