Lacking ambition

I hate when I want to write but I can't stir up the same "zone" I was in at the time I started writing whatever I want to work on.  I can't channel what I was feeling when I started a project. I don't write words but rather transfer my mood into words. 
Does anyone else operate like that?

poetry hour one

I saw the storm rising above the sandy shores

The world i knew shook to shambles

I only closed the door

I've see the sights and felt the feelings

Knew what I denied

I saw the storm on the sandy shores 

But I only closed the door

It fell like soft rain and soaked me to the bone

The wave hit and washed the world away

I saw it rise and felt its fall 

I only closed the door

Some progress in the deep pines that though they are mine the haunt me.

She paused at the door,looking down at her feet. She turned those sparkling eye upon me, her brow furrowed in deep thought.
“Would you like to escort me to a party this evening?” she asked with eyes alight. I nodded out of habit not knowing what the right answer would have been. I hated people, especially the deep crowds of the stations. They were a necessity to me but no less of a troublesome burden.
“Great, Ill have a suit brought in for you” she said her face lighting up with joy. It was as if she would have been miserable attending alone. I would have figured a women like that would be overjoyed at the prospects of mingling with the high born that attended such events. Perhaps my perception of what she is and isn't was flawed in some way. Only time would tell who or what she really is, I prayed to anyone who would listen she was not a beast hiding in the flowers. Everyone was hungry for something in this world, some would consume it in every way were they able and others want but one bite to be satisfied. Again she left with the quiet click of the door latching and I was left to my thoughts.
My eyes grew tired,I slipped inside my mind back to the pines. The earthen air was heavy with impending rains the pines swayed in storms gale and the shadow still babble and cackled. It had changed from a place of peace into a more nightmarish visage of its former self. I didn't know what this terrifying transition was telling me but it bore the air of a foul omen. I hoped it shed little light onto the future of reality and that I would return to the quiet quarters I had left for this. The storm rolled in and the sun became but small rays in the impending onslaught. Terror swept across me like wildfire and I clawed my way out of this image back to the finery of the high station home that seemed so peaceful.

the pines needles crunch softly under foot. The damp earth left in the wake of the storm fill my nostrils. Was this what peace felt like? I wasn't for sure on the matter myself, But it was what I imagined when my mind retreated into itself to shut out the horrors of world. My mind snapped back to reality and I tasted what the true world was once again. The thick and dark with the slow death and decay of the world. I sat atop the skeletal heap of rubble taking in what one would only think hell would look like. Below the horizon the dim globe of what once was the radiant sun sank slowly below the scabbed scenery. A great city reduced to ruins, whose names long forgotten, spread before me. Tiny specks in the distance moved through the wreckage, a pack of feral dogs looking for less fortunate prey.


I keep coming back to this story, I don't know why but it keep pulling me back in. I never really think anything I write is worth two shits in a sand storm but this one in particular keeps pulling me back with a sirens song.

I've always dreamed of being a novelist but I have never had enough drive to actually finish anything. the longest running manuscript Ive had was a solid 56 pages and I still saw it as garbage. when it comes to my own work I am hyper critical of every detail.

Just some food for thought I suppose, perhaps one day I'll make it big and see that I had laid the foundation for my success right here on my own portion of the vast internet. there are only two certain things in life, Death and taxes

Free write one

He stands a stone statue, a tribute to what we have accomplished. the perfect specimen of the infusion of science and carefully thought out genetics. every advantage of being a human with few drawbacks, but he was not his own as it were. the problem with people meddling in a person is they can control everything to an absolute. they can essentially create living property by the refined laws that govern what it is to be human.  the clear cut lines that once were are now muddled in with the bleeding ink of political garbage. they make their money by selling themselves like common whores. perhaps it was the inevitable way of things, politicians have been corrupt since the earliest days of government and today it stands to be as true as ever. It really wasn't my business  I suppose as I am but a lowly clerk who issues out the supplies to create these works of genetic perfection. some days it doesn't bother me but  today was a news broadcast over the company intranet about the great work we were doing in the field of growing human tissues and how our research was saving countless lives across the world. this played on my moral compass, we made life to destroy life to save more lives, there were so many shades of grey in this business. I hated this place but I loved it too, the things other people were doing for a fair wage was yet another terrible reality the we all faced.  the people were layered in the sins of the old world scriptures, It bled from their very pores and seemed to linger in the air around them.  I was not a saint by any means but there were people in this world who if given a chance would consume it. But this was the reality we lived with and without a great change in things it would be the way of things forever

One of my favorite books series

I have read my fair share of books in my time in the world but one that I enjoyed so much that I finished the whole series in less than a week is The Dark Tower Series by Stephen King (see The Dark Tower Boxed Set (Books 1-4) on amazon)


Another one that I read a long time ago that was also good from Stephen king is The eyes of the Dragon( The Eyes of the Dragon on amazon)


I haven't read a good book in a while and I think that is part of why I haven't written a great amount in a few months. Its funny how one can lead to the other and that lack of reading may have an affect on not writing.

Computer crashed and I lost alot of my writing.

Its a bad day when your computer crashes, a worse day when nothing is backed up on another bit of media.


I have lost almost every single word I have written since 2013, well over ten thousand words across four manuscripts. I do have one of them in hard copy, scribbled notes on a few others and what little I published here which is missing large pieces.


That being said, I have started revising some of the notes back into manuscripts. its very hard to replicate the mindset I was in at the time I wrote a lot of them. most of them were written when I had very few distractions. I was locked into the story for hours and hours with few if any other stimuli from the outside world.

Its funny how easily you can get distracted when you are in a comfortable place surrounded by your things and left to yourself. Most of the time I wrote was when I was far away from home, Surrounded by other people and more often then not in the least comfortable places known to man.