“Even angels have their wicked schemes, and you take that to new extremes.” –Skylar Grey

I promise that some day these titles and quotes will correlate to the actual post. They don’t most of the time, but whatever. This be my journal. You fools are just snooping through it without my permission.

The voices have returned. They left me a while ago, giving me peace while I took on my new role in life. Now, however, they’re coming back with a raging violence that I cannot withstand. Funny that they’d chose November to do so, but I’m anti-NaNoWriMo because I find it silly and pointless – “Better to have a crappy first draft than nothing.” Sadly, I don’t agree with that school of thought because a crappy first draft sometimes becomes a crappier second draft and gets self-published, or worse – actually published.

The voices, though. They’re back. I question if they ever left me. Before you start wondering what I’m talking about, every story I’ve ever written started with a voice in my head. A character that I gave birthed to in a moment of insanity, I suppose. They tell me stories. Or I create one for them. Old voices are resurfacing, bitching that I never finished their tales. Well, buddy, take a number.

This isn’t a relatively new thing, I’m just more open about it these days. The voices started when I was a kid and my only source for entertainment was a stick and a rope in the backyard. Imagination, ladies and gents, is a wonderful thing and maybe it’s time you turned off that television your spawn in plopped in front of so they can have a fighting chance.

One thing that probably started this whole mess of things is the old lady who’s been using the Children’s Department books to learn how to read English. There’s something chillingly familiar about her. That said, I’m beginning to grow nostalgic about my maternal grandmother, who died this month fifteen years ago. This week, actually, if my memory serves me right.

There was a point to this post, I swear. It’s somewhere over the seas, heading towards Timbuktu. Man, I really did fuck the toaster because of this, didn’t I? I promise I’ll write a more coherent post later. I gotta go to bed now.

 

 

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