I started to write today’s Daily Prompt, but it was the third time around for “create an eighth deadly sin.” I began writing, but lost interest after a paragraph. If it was boring me, it would have put you into a coma.
I was going to write a brand new post. I had a terrific idea when I went to bed last night, but I had entirely forgotten it by the time I woke up today. Gone. All I remember is that there was something I wish I could remember.
I’m listening to a science fiction novel that’s been very highly praised by many reviewers. It’s duller than dirt. Worse, I’m not sure what it’s about. I can’t discern a plot or a character. No motivation, no action. Dull conversations about nothing in particular, but taking place in a spaceship. I hate it.
What’s happened to science fiction? What’s happened to literature? What’s with these murky books that meander, without any apparent plot, through time, space, and dimensions? Where are authors with stories to tell? With interesting and memorable characters? Have I outlived the literature I love?
I was going to go take pictures, but I can’t think of anything to shoot that I haven’t shot a dozen times before. It’s probably the mid-winter blahs, El Niño edition. It’s warm. No snow except for little piles of brown, melting stuff from the tiny storm last week.
It looks like winter despite the springlike temperatures. The sky is pale grayish blue, the sun a cold, diffused light which highlights the drab landscape.
I remind myself it’s not snowing. Which is reason enough for gratitude, even celebration. I’m think I’m going through Arizona withdrawal.
It’s Saturday. There’s nothing on my calendar until next Wednesday … and that’s just taking Bonnie for grooming.
I was gonna do something. But I didn’t.