Stephen King Must Not Be Human. Period.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Throb. Throb. Throb. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse.

A drum circle of pain used my head as a rehearsal space, a constant beat imprinting itself into the inside of my skull. All was black. What had happened?

I refrained from opening my eyes, attempting to gather my thoughts. Blurry images floated around. None came into focus. Something wasn’t right here. I had a feeling that this was not the result of a night of binge drinking or simply falling and hitting my head. Why couldn’t I remember anything?

I realized that I was moving. I was in someone’s car. Every bump that the tires hit caused my head to feel like it would burst open. My forehead was resting against the dashboard, adding insult to injury. By approximately the fifth large bump, a soft cry of pain spilled from my lips.

Voices. I heard voices. More than one.

This is a story that I started about five months ago. This is all I've written so far. I haven't necessarily been working on it the whole time, but therein lies the problem. It is/was based on a disturbing dream I'd had. As long as I could remember everything I'd dreamt and could make necessary changes, how hard could it be? If I'd started this story several years ago, I would have at least forty pages by the five-month mark. What changed? I'm trying very hard to figure it out. Sometimes I feel like the real me has been replaced by a less efficient me. A me that can't do anything at all.

I never thought I was a particularly good writer; it was always other people telling me that while I usually flat out disagreed or privately wondered what they saw that I did not. All I could see were the flaws. The plot holes, the cheesy dialogue, the poor attempts at humor, the overall amateur vibe...or in poetry, the cringe-worthy figurative language that cried "TEENAGE ANGST!!" Well, they say we're our own worst critics.

Perhaps that's why the inspiration dried up and I gave up, even extending to this blog.

I thought I was a failure when I was writing things that weren't up to my extremely high standards. Turns out I feel like a bigger failure when I'm sitting around waiting for ideas that won't materialize, or the lack of discipline that causes me to abandon ones that do. No one wins here.

Also, the 'R' key keeps sticking, which disturbs me.