trying to write

I decided to sit down and write something, or rather revise something I had written. And it was a bitch. I feel like a petulant editor- none of that freedom of creating something from thin air. None of the joie de vivre that comes out of writing something that makes me laugh out loud. I'm going to have find that form somewhere. I thought listening to sprinkly tinkly mozart sonatas would do it for me. No way. All of it sounded like forks rapping on sheets of metal- no offense glen g (well it didn't really sound all that bad and yes, I will be listening to all of them again and more carefully and love them to death sometime in this terrible lifespan)

and so I retreated to some meatier ludvig van symphonies. They gave me comfort but no inspiration. Me thinks it is time to pull out the big gun. I think it's time to read three or four Terry Pratchett novels at a shot- a Pratchett marathon- serial pratchetting gone wild, that'll be me.

Yup- the only frikkin way.