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Cramp

My writin'-muscle done seized up on me. I can occasionally think up an interesting idea, but I never manage to think of a corresponding story about that idea. I've got files full of concepts but no coherent tales to tell. Still, I'm trying to make myself write, even when it goes nowhere. It's just not as much fun as when I feel like I'm actually making progress. I guess that's why writing is still considered a job. As Red Forman said, if it was easy, they wouldn't call it work, they'd call it super happy fun time.

Anyway, on a whim last night I touched up one of my old pieces and submitted it somewhere, just to get something out there and see what happens. I figure, it can't hurt to try, just so that I have something to use to tell myself I'm making a real effort, not just to put words on paper, but to put those words out there in the world and see what they do.

Using the pen-and-paper metaphor still feels weird, even after two decades of doing all my long-form writing on computers.