Outside my window, the sky darkens. Dusk comes, bringing before it a storm. Suits my mood. Not writing, not accomplishing much.
Stuck here with my questions and the answers I won't find. Sigh.
I don't know. I guess this public space isn't the right place for what I really want to say. I'm not even free to write my thoughts, don't even know for sure what they are.
There's a bit of longing. A bit of hunger. Wistfulness. Loneliness. Curiousity. Wanting just to be, to be together, to be a bit of a family, to connect.
Wondering how a writer writes a story, when it starts and when it stops, and what to do next with the plot arc.