Post 17 of 92

4:14pm.  Trouble getting and staying online although the gaps in posts is not entirely due to that.

Anyway.  The other day I downloaded Writer software.  Had it before and used it briefly to write something utterly forgettable.  In the past I have written one and a half novels which mercifully have been lost forever to cyberspace.  Wrote them to prove I had the discipline to write which I did.  What I didn't have is the talent.  So now I think, with this challenge of two minutes a day for 92 days, why not write something, something fictitious.  Maybe a short story rather than a novel.  Great idea save for one tiny little problem.  I haven't the slightest idea of what to write about.  Real writers constantly write.  Their life is a book written in their heads, every person, every situation is organic matter for the compost heap from which something grows.   After a lifetime of drawing I see with an artist's eye.  I see colour and form and texture that probably the non-artist never notices.  Mom told me years ago that if I made art I would never see the same.  She was right.

But a writer I ain't.  Still that Writer software with the black background and the green lettering beckons.  Perhaps something will bubble up from the recycle bin.  4:20pm