If Sadness Was a Piece of Hard Candy (Taken From Long Ago)

I have not had a new thought for a while now. Nor has anyone I know. The river which carries thoughts to my small village has long been dried up. We live here on this barren land. Without thought or idea. Exiting on instinked and routine. Living a rather mondain life. We only wait for the rain to come. It will come cascading down from the mountains flooding our patties and rejuvinating our village. Hope has run out a long while ago if only we had hope. We live like zombies. Never thinking, rarely speaking. Carring out our daily task never straying from what we had done the day before. We use to have philosiophers but they have all withered away. Every once in awhile a cloud passes over but no one ever takes notice. Sand covers our streets, our homes and our hearts. I no longer know weather I'm alive. If I were, I'd wish to die, but that isn't part of the routine. So I live.

Writing. Writing. (Written Awhile Back.)

Writing. Writing. Writing. My mind is a blank slate encompassing my body. I sit frozen staring at my computer screen. Every click of the keyboard reverberates in my skull. My thoughts lay dormaint in a crevase not seen for eons. I only wander what it is like for the charecters in my story. Are the dissapointed in me for failing them or have they been the one all alog conspire to freeze this plot so that they will never meet what was meant to be. Think. Think. I have chosen not to attempt to write untill my thoughts flow onto the page peacefully, of their own will, like that of a cascading waterfall. They will not be forced, backed into a corner, through mind maping and charecter analis. Not knowing what the ending leads one to feel that you may destroy what you have already written. I know my ending, its a master peice, but getting there has become a feet unsurmountable to meer mortal.

My story start like this.

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It's a period. They are used to state the ending of an idea. I have chosen to place it at the begening. What does it mean? Well I have decided to leave that up to you. I know. But does that what I think it mean is the only answer? Yes. But you can still think of something regardless of the fact that it's bound to be wrong. After that artistic concept I chose to take the story to a mind blowing level. I leave the next 42 pages blank. Then I in the center of the 43rd page is the main charecters name. Although it is written in brail. And this is where I've stopped. I have the best story (or close to it) ever written this week. I'm thinking of making it a trilogy. Originally this was not my plan. I thought one long book with a rather large appendisies would be substantal. 3 is after four and before six. (That's depending on the relm in which you concepulize rational figures, such as numbers.)

You might be starting too see how this book of mine has come too a stand still. I could see how it migh be hard to conseptulize my highly sapirior concepts. But bear with me I due not find myself better than the average person, just my ideas. I write this to you hoping that one might become able to reach the same tear on the mountain of creativity. That's enough of my ideas. Back to my writer's block.....