Practice

It appears that words are beginning to form, again. Writing is happening. I'm not going to say it's good. It's practice. I'm starting with something that's been bugging me for a long time. A story with two endings. One ending is the socially-unacceptable one. The other is how I wish things would turn out.

The wished-for life fantasy lingers, but know that my life keeps proving me wrong about everything. So I indulge in the other ending, and it is cathartic. The fact that no one will approve of it makes writing it more fun. I've gone with a mediocre ending once before, because the story just wasn't turning out well, and my life was really mediocre to begin with. It was how things always fucking turn out, anyway. I scrapped all of that writing and started again. Which was actually my third attempt.

I lost the entirety in the crash of my computer in 2006. I have what I'd written up until a few months before that on disks. I had a 3.5 floppy drive, at the time. I also had a toddler, and I can't even use those disks even if I got a floppy reader somewhere.

So I'm writing it again, because it won't go away. And it's good practice, for when I finally get around to the real things I want to write, that may someday come out of me, again. I have CD-ROMs of those stories and books. Well, extremely early versions, anyway. I'll start over again.

Some day.