i've found it rather difficult since my move to write.
Anything.
The sky is too blue. There are so many trees to look at that i begin to feel unreal.
i've lived here a month and have yet to hear a siren. No one talks to themselves or tries to sell me baby formula to raise money for crack.
And there's only one bus!
i've always found myself writing fiendishly when confronted with the strangeness and pollution and scummy beauty of seediness. What can i say about geese or rushing creeks or pear blossoms?
Is anyone else like this? What outside influences cause you to write furiously? Is it hard to write when you're happy or satisfied with life?
Anything.
The sky is too blue. There are so many trees to look at that i begin to feel unreal.
i've lived here a month and have yet to hear a siren. No one talks to themselves or tries to sell me baby formula to raise money for crack.
And there's only one bus!
i've always found myself writing fiendishly when confronted with the strangeness and pollution and scummy beauty of seediness. What can i say about geese or rushing creeks or pear blossoms?
Is anyone else like this? What outside influences cause you to write furiously? Is it hard to write when you're happy or satisfied with life?
