Is there anybody .. out there? - a breather

I set this blog up to return to writing, to do a little blatherin', get me some o dem idears flowing through the old gray matter. Grey matter? I am choc full of glimmers of snatches of itsy bitsy pieces of concepts. Rattling around in my brainbox. Internal Chaos ensues as real life keeps distracting me from this whimsical endevour. "Don't look off into space while you are driving or you will surely die," I tell myself. Or is some other driver yelling that at me? Details. I flipped them off in return. Yea you're number one! You! YOU'RE NUMBER ONE.

I've got about 5 story ideas at the moment, each one begging for me to start and then abandon it. But this time I pulled a fast one and snuck in a short story or two at the same time.

Why did I quote a Pink Floyd song?  It sounded cool in my head. Does every post need a title? Bah.

Will I put real content here or prototypes of real stuff and do as my friend suggests.. submit finished ideas to publications!

Maybe paper my wall with rejection letters. Actually that sounds fun. My kitchen wallpaper could be purely composed of rejections letters and in the kitchen is also where I keep a bottle of whiskey called 'Writers Tears.'

And now if you don't mind, a little song.

Writer's Tears - by J. Francis (check out  my schmancy nombre due plummage')
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Sittin' in my kitchen
doin the writing thing
my brain's doin' some bitchin'
and lethagy is king
as my willpower falls
rejection letters on the walls
bring home my worse fears
at least I have my, Writers Tears.

Writers Tears!
so bitter and so strong
Writers Tears!
a few shots and I'm long gone

The story should tell itself
but instead short circuits on the shelf
a few pages in ran and out of steam
the rest vanishes like a disturbed dream
the aftertaste lingers on
but the content is long gone
and I've switched down to beers
but here's no forgetting my, Writers Tears.



As a bombastic friend would say if this was an Instagram post, thank you, dear gentle reader and true believer, for being there in the ether for me, my invisible probably non-existent but potentially massive huge awesome army of literary soldiers who would .. whatever people do for writers that they like. Buy me a drink? Sounds good.

I hope to have a short story here some point soon. Not for you.. I mean what have you done for me lately? Why is it always about you you you? For me.  Unless I am the only reader. From me, to me, for me. I better step outside to get a breathe of fresh air before all this hot air puts me to sleep.

Hey but I had fun writing this. I'll chalk this one up as a win.