Feeling the Pressure to Perform on a Regular Basis

Having to come up with a new topic of discussion every week is starting to turn my little head’s lonely innards into a grey puddle.

But I suppose I shouldn’t complain, it gives me a chance to do one thing I truly love, and that’s to write. To write about anything I can think of, to let my imagination take flight and throw off the shackles of this plane and float somewhere, listless in the ethereal void, all these images bombarding me.

Images of Cats being stung my bees on acid, visions of acorns with imaginary friends, small glimpses of girls in boats looking out onto a bank to see a ghoul wearing her father as a suit. There are other images of course, ones that may make more sense or tug more at your heart-strings, these images are more often than not turned into stories, the most recent of which being a short story called “The Lake” which I may or may not put up here, its gonna be in the book so… either, either or, eh? I don’t want to give the whole book away for free… you people gotta pay. *maniacal laughter*

Coming into college on a Tuesday after having the whole week since last Tuesday to come up with a topic and I’m still at a loss for words. Like I said before, I don’t care if I don’t have anything to write about just now, something will come to me, drifting in nothingness and I will jot it down, you can read it then we can get on with our lives and be happy for a week, before I start bombarding you with nonsense again, talking bout acorns, cats, beavers who don’t have a proper name so it changes all the time, girls in boats and the odd, occasional proper blog post, like this one that isn’t a short story.

What’s your preference?