Notes on Writing, Short Story: You're Allowed to Order Takeout

Must…write…post

So, I’m fairly out of it.  My head-cold is progressing and I don’t feel so bad, but my brain just isn’t working.  I hate being sick, mainly because I’m so not myself.  I just sort of wander around being confused.  Which, actually, sort of sounds like myself.  It’s just different.  Either you know or you don’t.  Earlier today I thought I was back in high-school.

All of this is fascinating, I’m sure, but my point is that, while it’s pretty easy for me to come up with stories in this state of mind, it’s very difficult to remember them five minutes later.  Also, the stories tend to be about jello monsters who come barging through my door (by the way, never get me started on NyQuil), and I’ve already written a story about a big blobular monster, so that’s out.

Point being, I’m nowhere.

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