Please Tell Me Why I Am Working on This Story and Have Been for Almost the Whole Entire Week

I don’t know why, really. It’s about 25 pages now—too long. And it’s not yet done. And I don’t even know if I like it. Yet.

I feel like I’m carving into granite and I’ve only just scratched the surface of what I wanted to say. I’ll be working on it tomorrow, if some other bit of inspiration doesn’t pull me away. I’ll be working on it the day after that. And why is it holding on to me so tight? I don’t know. It should be said that I’ve dreamed of it, at least twice. At this moment it feels like it wants to be written more than I want to write it and I just hope we can meet in the middle, see eye to eye on a few things. It needs to talk a little louder so I know what it’s trying to say. I’m all ears. Really. For such a short, slight story to have me by the throat is quite funny. Help me help you, story. Where are you taking me? My feet hurt.

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