…sit down to do a bit of writing and think to yourself, this is going to be a great session, I’m going to pound out several reams of the good stuff, only to look at the drivel you wrote half an hour later and realize that lukewarm tripe has more appeal than the words you tortured, maimed and killed in the name of… something?
I’m fairly certain that, were the atrocity I just wasted bits and bytes on written on paper, I would crumple the whole thing up and file in that outbox at my feet.
The last post was more experimental and probably grating, but I’m, oh, so very much feeling a little more free today to explore a bit of writing now that I’m not beholden to the Cygnet Committee buried in the depths of Facebook.
You know, that faceless censor that makes you fear to say anything that might cause your posts to explode in a cesspool of hatred. Or maybe you’re just a little disappointed that it didn’t explode and you wonder what damp fuse you lit for a fizzle.