Writing is weird. There are times when you don’t have a single idea in your head, and it’s as though every word in the language put its belongings in a little red handkerchief, tied it to a stick, and threw it over its shoulder to head off to parts unknown.

Other times, there are too many ideas to focus, so many tempting notions coming from all directions, and it’s tough to figure out what to grab first. Right now, I’m between the two, which is typical, as I have a manuscript–well, two–I’ve been neglecting.

I envy the writers who seem able to grind through it, no matter what else the universe has in store for them. I’m so easily distracted, so easily wrapped up in the drama of my actual world that the drama of my imaginary one gets shoved aside.

I know. Bad writer.

If want to get what’s in my head out of my head, but my sluggish fingers on a reluctant keyboard seem so clumsy, so inefficient. I need a direct data link, though, as a lover of science-fiction, I know how that will turn out.

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