The iron’s in the fire, and I gotta work the forge. Sweat running down my forehead and back. My eyes stinging on the saltiness of the sweat. I can only wipe my brow so many times. The smell of molten metal is in the air, and images of cooler place dance about and teas my thoughts. I pick up the tools, and star away at shaping this iron to tell the stories brimming to the surface to be told.
So writing has stalled again, however, a brother keeps trying because he does that what he does. Is not in the mood to hear excuses about it either. Did do some writing, it was random ideas, and the plot for a new story that I need to work on more. The novel needs its legs back. so I gotta get more done for that as well.
Now I go make things happen.
Happy creative endeavors.