fileg (fileg) wrote,


I was trying to move fiction around tonight, and it just seemed pointless. I can't remember when I last wrote any, and tonight the entire experiment seems like some weird aberration.

I tried to fall back to the fact that even when I am not writing, I want to be - but it wasn't there. Why should I want to write when I have nothing to say? Looks over recent journal entries, and wonders if it's just fiction or if I should be more inclusive.

Is this some late night unsettling? Does it hit and run and leave you wondering in the morning what the hell was that about? or was the writing the unreal moment?

Perhaps I will know in the morning.

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