Ideas. Don’t you just love those? 

Each day at the very back of my mind, I seem to be collecting notes of; situations, ideas, nature, environment, various interpretations, body language, nuances etc., and it strikes me as kind of curious that I’m not physically writing these thoughts down. It’s as if by the end of the day I’m too tired to even be bothered. 

A true writer would be. 

I know I could write it down as I go along, and by doing it I would easily retain it all without much ado. So when I want to write something I’m not caught out by staring at a blank page. 

The thing is. In all my wisdom, I don’t do this! 

Perhaps, the content of my thoughts don’t warrant writing them down? Why do I think this? Because these thoughts are transient and don’t stick around long enough to make something of it. 

I used to once entertain the idea of passing my many hours writing something worth reading about. Now, after many, many years of dreaming, I’ve decided to stop pretending that I can write anything. Clearly I’ve had ample time to write but haven’t. I believe a writer writes something, just about anything, because they can and are strongly passionate about doing so. Determined and forthright. Passionately confident. Experienced and wise. Doers in every sense. Perhaps, this isn’t me?
Oh well. 


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