I have been asked a time or two what inspires me when I write. A lot of the time it’s guilt. I will actually talk to myself out loud to drag my carcass from one room to the next so that I will actually do something I truly enjoy. Then I feel guilty because I have a number of writing implements and heaps, literal heaps (Worst organized bookstore ever) of story starters and springboards. (yet I can rarely find a pen that has ink, go figure)
Today I have things that I want to write about, mostly because I’m kind of depressed and grim and a little more than angry, but because I am made of awesome, I’m not going to name any specific names or even events but there is a lot going on this week, not the least of which this wheezy cough that I can’t get rid of, even though I went to the doctor yesterday, I’m supposed to get a referral for a sleep study.
Today, I am inspired by choking on something other than my own rage.
It’s always the little things.