The Silent Actor on a Deserted Stage

You know, sometimes I throw too much effort at a thing. It's fun. I enjoy it immensely. And I find myself devoting far too much time with it.

When the object of my - obsession - is a story, it's great. I churn out words like goose droppings. And they're probably about as useful. haha

But when it's something else my writing suffers. My creative forces are directed elsewhere, and no stories get written.

That's what's been happening for the last ten days or so. I got myself involved in one of those online gaming worlds and I'm having a blast play acting like I'm living in medieval Europe. Having never been to Europe I have no clue how realistic it is. But it's fun.

Still, after ten days I'm finding my thoughts drifting back to my writing. I can never abandon it long. Even when I'm frightfully discouraged. Writing is kind of who I am, I guess. I'm not nearly so good at it as I desire. Kind of like the would-be actor/actress watching plays from the wings and wishing s/he could be out there, too. And when the performance is over and everyone has left the theatre, s/he sneaks out on stage and performs a soliloquy to an empty house.

But I sense another writing surge on the horizon. Or around the corner. Or bubbling up from within. Wherever it comes from, it's near.