Word Count: 114
Mood: Today I was discouraged. Why can't writing just be writing? Why does there have to be so much forethought? I suppose on the best of days this forethought vanishes and there's just a clear path, without obstacles that look like gigantic piles of reasons why not. Not a good choice, not a good metaphor, not an interesting setting, not an authentic action, not happy enough, not sad enough, not big enough, not small enough, not early enough, not late enough. . .Today was not one of those days. Today felt like I was in one of those traffic rounds where you yield, wait, turn, yield, wait, turn.
Mood: Today I was discouraged. Why can't writing just be writing? Why does there have to be so much forethought? I suppose on the best of days this forethought vanishes and there's just a clear path, without obstacles that look like gigantic piles of reasons why not. Not a good choice, not a good metaphor, not an interesting setting, not an authentic action, not happy enough, not sad enough, not big enough, not small enough, not early enough, not late enough. . .Today was not one of those days. Today felt like I was in one of those traffic rounds where you yield, wait, turn, yield, wait, turn.
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