I Often ask myself this particular question but IO never really had time to ponder the answers to them.
Indeed. Why do we do the things that we do?
Let me start at the very top of the chain.
We were born on earth without our knowledge, at leats in the physical and particular instance (I refused to consider the discoveries of man nowadays about the unconscious. Not yet anyway).
We grew up as babbling babies who just can’t control salivating at every moment. We want the things we want as babies because that is what the physical aspects of our natures tell us.
We want food because we are hungry and because deep inside we know we need food to survive, so we cry. We want our diapers changed because we feel uncomfortable and generally, all creatures want their comfort so we cry again.
We want to be cuddled and cooed at because all creatures want attention so we try our best to be cute and adorable and to do odd things that bring the attentions of adults upon ourselfves. If this does not work, we cry.
Basically, as babies, our reasons for doing things are so simple: to survive, to be comfortable and to get the attention of others.
We have not changed much have we?
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Sometimes It Really Doesn't Happen
I was a weird kid.
As a kid, my parents told me I played a lot on my own. I did not have any friends my age since we did not have neighbors (or was it because I was not allowed to play with them?). We also did not have a TV set since my parents were only starting out on their own and we used to live with my grandparents.
I did not have dolls to play with too since my mother never really believed in handing a kid a baby doll to mother when she can barely take care of her own self.
Anyway, I used to spend my time playing god or goddess. I created people out of drinking straws, pieces of paper and even ball pens.
Then, I would create lives for them to live and worlds to move in.
It used to be so much fun. Until my father became aware of it and started teasing me about my really weird habit.
Then, I grew a bit embarrassed everytime I was teased.
Until I got to know the magic of ballpens and papers. Instead of my usual toys, I started drawing my thoughts, my sotries and my world on my notebooks.
As I progressed later on in life, I discovered the elusive magic of words.
I found out that no one is really interested with notebooks filled with odd scribbles compared to notebooks filled with easy to decipher figures.
I started playing with words.
And grew obsessed with my stories, the world I created in it. Until the stories stopped pouring and all I had left were my thoughts…and the words.
The creative process has left me and I was no more than a shell triyng to insist on the writing of stories that no longer besets me.
I have stopped dreaming.
As a kid, my parents told me I played a lot on my own. I did not have any friends my age since we did not have neighbors (or was it because I was not allowed to play with them?). We also did not have a TV set since my parents were only starting out on their own and we used to live with my grandparents.
I did not have dolls to play with too since my mother never really believed in handing a kid a baby doll to mother when she can barely take care of her own self.
Anyway, I used to spend my time playing god or goddess. I created people out of drinking straws, pieces of paper and even ball pens.
Then, I would create lives for them to live and worlds to move in.
It used to be so much fun. Until my father became aware of it and started teasing me about my really weird habit.
Then, I grew a bit embarrassed everytime I was teased.
Until I got to know the magic of ballpens and papers. Instead of my usual toys, I started drawing my thoughts, my sotries and my world on my notebooks.
As I progressed later on in life, I discovered the elusive magic of words.
I found out that no one is really interested with notebooks filled with odd scribbles compared to notebooks filled with easy to decipher figures.
I started playing with words.
And grew obsessed with my stories, the world I created in it. Until the stories stopped pouring and all I had left were my thoughts…and the words.
The creative process has left me and I was no more than a shell triyng to insist on the writing of stories that no longer besets me.
I have stopped dreaming.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Who's Yanni?
Whos Yanni?
I don't know. I just keyed in classical violin solo on youtube earlier and out came Yanni.
This odd and really not so sudden interest in music was inspired by a DVD tape I bought just a week ago. Jim Brickman's number there with an electric violin performer sort of thrilled me. Besides, I have been fascinated with the concept of the violin as the devil's instrument for quite sometime now.
When I was in grade school, I remeber hearinf a violin performance in a cartton show on TV and ...
I don't know. I just keyed in classical violin solo on youtube earlier and out came Yanni.
This odd and really not so sudden interest in music was inspired by a DVD tape I bought just a week ago. Jim Brickman's number there with an electric violin performer sort of thrilled me. Besides, I have been fascinated with the concept of the violin as the devil's instrument for quite sometime now.
When I was in grade school, I remeber hearinf a violin performance in a cartton show on TV and ...
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
A Series of Unfortunate Creations
Yeah, I watched the movie but I was unable to get the book and no, LEmony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events did not inspire this.
No pun is intended here. These write ups were just crazy products of an imagination that has been crazily spinning for a time now.
Its uncontrolable. It's unstoppable. And God, the outputs are simply disgusting.
But, like any mother, I unobjectively see them as okay. However, the other side of me says, whoa. What in the name of heaven is this?
***
Where to Miss?
by me
She said she had nowhere to go? What was I to say to a woman like her? I cannot possibly ignore her and allow her to leave just like that?
We both know she had business to attend to. Anyway, I made a promise to follow the dictates of my higher mind and it tells me to do this.
Hold her back. Lock her behind the doors of my minds. Never allow her to live.
I smiled at the woman as she cowered inside the cabin where I alone hold the key out. I was her only way out and we both knew that.
She really had no choice over the matter. She and I know that she is under my mercy.
She sat there staring at me. Probably wondering why I kept her under lock and key. What had she done to deserve such a cruel fate.
I told her she did not have to do anything to deserve it. All she had to do was simply exist. And that, I cannot allow. I cannot let her out.
I told myself not to allow thoughts to burn across my head. I know she was trying her clever sorcery at me. She intends to do me no good at all.
She continued staring at me, her lower lips trembling. I felt a tense sort of excitement as I watched her tongue licked out to trace the soft curved of her lips.
I have never seen lips like that.
Her eyes widened when she saw me moisten my own lips as I stared at her. She flinched when she felt my eyes travel up her beautifully shaped face. She had the most delicate of jaw bones. So unlike mine. And her high cheek bones were so proud with its rosy blush perpetually driving any sane man’s mind to madness.
“Please, let me out. You cannot keep me a prisoner forever.” She begged in a very musical voice. Even with a hint of fear in her breathlessly husky voice, she sounded so divine.
She really can drive a man to the brink of madness. And because of that, I can never let her go.
“You are mine and I will do as I please with you.”
She stood. She was beautifully tall, her shapely body tantalizingly revealed by the almost transparent night shift she was wearing.
She imploringly held out one daintily shaped hand.
“Please, I beg you. I cannot live her.”
She made me so angry at that I slapped her hand away and she stumbled back into her corner cringing against the cold walls. She started sobbing.
The sobs can break any man’s heart. Her trembling body can make any man crave to comfort her.
But, she can never weaken my resolve enough to refrain from punishing her for all the things she makes me suffer. I know, I am not totally immune to her. But, I can stand all her histrionics, enough to make me close the door and walk away from her.
I know she was the very devil herself. She has ruled me for more than I can remember. She made me do things I never wanted to. She drove me against my own family.
She broke my brothers’ heart. She made me turn traitor against my own best friend. She made me lie, destroy life, turn against a better calling.
How can I let her loose after this?
“Come back here. Don’t turn your back on me.”
I did not listen. I was determined to carry out my plans no matter what she says.
“You can’t just walk out on me after what you did to me!”
Did to her! The gall of that woman. It was all her fault. All hers.
“Don’t put all the blame on my shoulders. You wanted it too. You wanted to do all those things with me. I just gave you the courage to live your ugly fantasies.”
I refused to talk to her. It would be pointless. Every time I make the effort of talking to her, she always manages to twist me to her merry ways.
She started crying harder now. She could feel that this time, her wiles no longer had any effect upon me.
I turned to look at her. Watch her cry pitifully as I held the door knob tightly in my hand.
“You will live to regret this.” She hissed.
She turned familiar green eyes upon me. The pair I see every morning when I looked into the mirror.
“You will regret locking me in here.” She added in a hurt angry voice.
I tried to push the door closed, closed my mind against a face that I never want to look at ever again. A face that would be forever locked inside that door.
“Please, Helena. You can’t do this to me, to use. You and I are one and the same. If you lock me here, you lock away a part of your soul as well. You cannot do this without damaging yourself.
She was right. God, she was right. But, we both know I can’t allow her out ever again. She, as a part of me, of myself, has done enough damage in her desire to run wild and free. She has made me do things I will forever live to regret.
“I have to leave you behind somewhere. You and all the ugly things you represent about me.” I sadly told the very image of the girl who was myself, my other twisted self.
I twisted the knob, locking the door in place from inside. Then, I threw away the key and deliberately left the other side of me, my destructive self, inside that door, to reside there forever.
11/22/08 8:31:01 PM
***
I Just
by me
Sometimes, I just put my thoughts into writing. Like this: pat.pat.pat.pat.pat…pat.pat.
That is supposed to be the sound of the keyboard. Ones braind just might create the same thinking sounds when one is so deep in concentration. That could be just the reason why we do not seem to notice anything when we are deep in our thoughts.
A penny for your thoughts. This one, a funny expression that does not seem to amount to much, actually expresses one of the eraths well-kept secrets: Man’s thought amounts to nothing more than a penny.
In short, every man-made thing on earth, everything that came out of man’s very devious mind, is actually a useless invention from the penny-thoughts of man. In short, all these, the building, the computer, gunpowder, romance and post modernism is a stupid, exercise in futility.
But, I do not mean to imply that man is less valuable by that. In fact, I am trying to emphasize man’s value. Man is greater than all these penny things. Because man is God’s thoughts, not man’s invention.
Now that I have nothing to add, no more penny-thoughts to sprout about, I guess it is ciao…for now.
I just might come up with enough to thoughts to cost more than a penny next time… That is usually what geniuses, heroes, visionaries and delusionnists think of everytime they come up with some stupid penny thoughts.
***
Some Lies
by Me
Why Should I write about reality when I could write about lies?
In fact, I find no reason to tell you that the world is an unfair place. Why tell you something when you can find out about it the hard way?
Why should I tell you that the ones you love most can also be the same persons you can hate the most?
Why should I reveal that when you want something so badly, you often fail to get it? You can find out about them yourself-the hard way of course.
Why should I disclose the fact that men only want one thing from women-sex. And that they often coat it with sugary words and lies just so they could get what they want. And worst of all, why should I say that the woman who is most prone to believe them are the women who believe in love and happy endings?
Why should I tell you that happy endings are only found in fairy tales? And that since fairies do not exist, it goes without saying that happy endings are human lies themselves?
Why should I tell you that all man is weak no matter what they tell you to get your confidence and trust?
Why should I let slip that some men are made handsome to compensate for lack of character or brainds?
Why should I acquaint you with the fact that happiness is inversely proportional to richess? That the more you seek for your treasure, the more elusive it becomes?
Why should I expose that men are the weaker creatures? That the reason why they keep demeaning women is because they do not want that weakness revealed?
Why should I divulge that women are devious and cunning creatures? That the reason why they pretend to be weak is so that they could manipulate the men around them?
Why should I tell you that man’s so called search for truth is his denial for accepting an unpalatable truth that lies right before his very eyes: Man is weak, insecure and naturally evil. And everything he does is a manifestation of his pure evil.
Why should I bother telling you all these? You can find them out for yourself later. And maybe, you can come and tell me things that man should not tell others just so he could help his fellows.
There is no need to open once mouth at all. It is enough to simply open the senses and here the song
of truth straight from our hearts.
***
Surfaced
by Me
I could not seem to catch my breath! My heart was beating too fast. Tugug-tug-gug.
It seems as if everything around me is twirling so rapidly I cannot grasp my bearing completely. And I wonder, what is happening to me.
Indeed, the world seems to be spinning hazily, in a mad hatter tatter manner. It tilts this way and leans this way and all I can really do is close my eye and let the rhythm take me.
God, save me from this dyiong world. I cried out.
A ringing begins somewhere in my head. I covered my ears to protect it from the dizzying noise.
Oh, God must really hate me! I gasped silently.
The buzzing grows louder. The spinning shifts faster. I can feel my eyeballs whirling wildly in their sockets.
And my heart started a crazy beat that my lungs could not catch up with. I gasps.
Hahhhh.
I gripped the banister tightly. I could not make the mad gyrations of my world stop.
My innards started reeling. Liquid started spurting. My whole body tingles and I began trembling.
I could not stop. This was too much. I had to let it out. Let it all go.
The rhythm goes farther, the music rises up to a crescendo and my body twisted and thrashed and buck around as it tried to contain the spinning, writhing mass of evil cascading inside my soul.
I gripped the only firm anchor I can find in this raging storm. Warm flesh over mine, driving relentless inside mine…
I clutched against one naked, sweaty back and held on for dear life.
And then, the world paused its incessant trembling and I opened my mouth to scream my gratitude to this short respite of steadiness and quiet…even for awhile.
Ahhh.
I slumped under him and smiled at hazel green eyes twinking like the midnight star.
He started moving again… and the storm crashed with such terrifying power over my unsuspecting body…
*this started as a physical journey of a drunkards vomit from the stomach to the ground. And it ended as what? See for your self.
Hehe. Odd right. Not twisted, but disjointed. In a bad, unliterary way....
No pun is intended here. These write ups were just crazy products of an imagination that has been crazily spinning for a time now.
Its uncontrolable. It's unstoppable. And God, the outputs are simply disgusting.
But, like any mother, I unobjectively see them as okay. However, the other side of me says, whoa. What in the name of heaven is this?
***
Where to Miss?
by me
She said she had nowhere to go? What was I to say to a woman like her? I cannot possibly ignore her and allow her to leave just like that?
We both know she had business to attend to. Anyway, I made a promise to follow the dictates of my higher mind and it tells me to do this.
Hold her back. Lock her behind the doors of my minds. Never allow her to live.
I smiled at the woman as she cowered inside the cabin where I alone hold the key out. I was her only way out and we both knew that.
She really had no choice over the matter. She and I know that she is under my mercy.
She sat there staring at me. Probably wondering why I kept her under lock and key. What had she done to deserve such a cruel fate.
I told her she did not have to do anything to deserve it. All she had to do was simply exist. And that, I cannot allow. I cannot let her out.
I told myself not to allow thoughts to burn across my head. I know she was trying her clever sorcery at me. She intends to do me no good at all.
She continued staring at me, her lower lips trembling. I felt a tense sort of excitement as I watched her tongue licked out to trace the soft curved of her lips.
I have never seen lips like that.
Her eyes widened when she saw me moisten my own lips as I stared at her. She flinched when she felt my eyes travel up her beautifully shaped face. She had the most delicate of jaw bones. So unlike mine. And her high cheek bones were so proud with its rosy blush perpetually driving any sane man’s mind to madness.
“Please, let me out. You cannot keep me a prisoner forever.” She begged in a very musical voice. Even with a hint of fear in her breathlessly husky voice, she sounded so divine.
She really can drive a man to the brink of madness. And because of that, I can never let her go.
“You are mine and I will do as I please with you.”
She stood. She was beautifully tall, her shapely body tantalizingly revealed by the almost transparent night shift she was wearing.
She imploringly held out one daintily shaped hand.
“Please, I beg you. I cannot live her.”
She made me so angry at that I slapped her hand away and she stumbled back into her corner cringing against the cold walls. She started sobbing.
The sobs can break any man’s heart. Her trembling body can make any man crave to comfort her.
But, she can never weaken my resolve enough to refrain from punishing her for all the things she makes me suffer. I know, I am not totally immune to her. But, I can stand all her histrionics, enough to make me close the door and walk away from her.
I know she was the very devil herself. She has ruled me for more than I can remember. She made me do things I never wanted to. She drove me against my own family.
She broke my brothers’ heart. She made me turn traitor against my own best friend. She made me lie, destroy life, turn against a better calling.
How can I let her loose after this?
“Come back here. Don’t turn your back on me.”
I did not listen. I was determined to carry out my plans no matter what she says.
“You can’t just walk out on me after what you did to me!”
Did to her! The gall of that woman. It was all her fault. All hers.
“Don’t put all the blame on my shoulders. You wanted it too. You wanted to do all those things with me. I just gave you the courage to live your ugly fantasies.”
I refused to talk to her. It would be pointless. Every time I make the effort of talking to her, she always manages to twist me to her merry ways.
She started crying harder now. She could feel that this time, her wiles no longer had any effect upon me.
I turned to look at her. Watch her cry pitifully as I held the door knob tightly in my hand.
“You will live to regret this.” She hissed.
She turned familiar green eyes upon me. The pair I see every morning when I looked into the mirror.
“You will regret locking me in here.” She added in a hurt angry voice.
I tried to push the door closed, closed my mind against a face that I never want to look at ever again. A face that would be forever locked inside that door.
“Please, Helena. You can’t do this to me, to use. You and I are one and the same. If you lock me here, you lock away a part of your soul as well. You cannot do this without damaging yourself.
She was right. God, she was right. But, we both know I can’t allow her out ever again. She, as a part of me, of myself, has done enough damage in her desire to run wild and free. She has made me do things I will forever live to regret.
“I have to leave you behind somewhere. You and all the ugly things you represent about me.” I sadly told the very image of the girl who was myself, my other twisted self.
I twisted the knob, locking the door in place from inside. Then, I threw away the key and deliberately left the other side of me, my destructive self, inside that door, to reside there forever.
11/22/08 8:31:01 PM
***
I Just
by me
Sometimes, I just put my thoughts into writing. Like this: pat.pat.pat.pat.pat…pat.pat.
That is supposed to be the sound of the keyboard. Ones braind just might create the same thinking sounds when one is so deep in concentration. That could be just the reason why we do not seem to notice anything when we are deep in our thoughts.
A penny for your thoughts. This one, a funny expression that does not seem to amount to much, actually expresses one of the eraths well-kept secrets: Man’s thought amounts to nothing more than a penny.
In short, every man-made thing on earth, everything that came out of man’s very devious mind, is actually a useless invention from the penny-thoughts of man. In short, all these, the building, the computer, gunpowder, romance and post modernism is a stupid, exercise in futility.
But, I do not mean to imply that man is less valuable by that. In fact, I am trying to emphasize man’s value. Man is greater than all these penny things. Because man is God’s thoughts, not man’s invention.
Now that I have nothing to add, no more penny-thoughts to sprout about, I guess it is ciao…for now.
I just might come up with enough to thoughts to cost more than a penny next time… That is usually what geniuses, heroes, visionaries and delusionnists think of everytime they come up with some stupid penny thoughts.
***
Some Lies
by Me
Why Should I write about reality when I could write about lies?
In fact, I find no reason to tell you that the world is an unfair place. Why tell you something when you can find out about it the hard way?
Why should I tell you that the ones you love most can also be the same persons you can hate the most?
Why should I reveal that when you want something so badly, you often fail to get it? You can find out about them yourself-the hard way of course.
Why should I disclose the fact that men only want one thing from women-sex. And that they often coat it with sugary words and lies just so they could get what they want. And worst of all, why should I say that the woman who is most prone to believe them are the women who believe in love and happy endings?
Why should I tell you that happy endings are only found in fairy tales? And that since fairies do not exist, it goes without saying that happy endings are human lies themselves?
Why should I tell you that all man is weak no matter what they tell you to get your confidence and trust?
Why should I let slip that some men are made handsome to compensate for lack of character or brainds?
Why should I acquaint you with the fact that happiness is inversely proportional to richess? That the more you seek for your treasure, the more elusive it becomes?
Why should I expose that men are the weaker creatures? That the reason why they keep demeaning women is because they do not want that weakness revealed?
Why should I divulge that women are devious and cunning creatures? That the reason why they pretend to be weak is so that they could manipulate the men around them?
Why should I tell you that man’s so called search for truth is his denial for accepting an unpalatable truth that lies right before his very eyes: Man is weak, insecure and naturally evil. And everything he does is a manifestation of his pure evil.
Why should I bother telling you all these? You can find them out for yourself later. And maybe, you can come and tell me things that man should not tell others just so he could help his fellows.
There is no need to open once mouth at all. It is enough to simply open the senses and here the song
of truth straight from our hearts.
***
Surfaced
by Me
I could not seem to catch my breath! My heart was beating too fast. Tugug-tug-gug.
It seems as if everything around me is twirling so rapidly I cannot grasp my bearing completely. And I wonder, what is happening to me.
Indeed, the world seems to be spinning hazily, in a mad hatter tatter manner. It tilts this way and leans this way and all I can really do is close my eye and let the rhythm take me.
God, save me from this dyiong world. I cried out.
A ringing begins somewhere in my head. I covered my ears to protect it from the dizzying noise.
Oh, God must really hate me! I gasped silently.
The buzzing grows louder. The spinning shifts faster. I can feel my eyeballs whirling wildly in their sockets.
And my heart started a crazy beat that my lungs could not catch up with. I gasps.
Hahhhh.
I gripped the banister tightly. I could not make the mad gyrations of my world stop.
My innards started reeling. Liquid started spurting. My whole body tingles and I began trembling.
I could not stop. This was too much. I had to let it out. Let it all go.
The rhythm goes farther, the music rises up to a crescendo and my body twisted and thrashed and buck around as it tried to contain the spinning, writhing mass of evil cascading inside my soul.
I gripped the only firm anchor I can find in this raging storm. Warm flesh over mine, driving relentless inside mine…
I clutched against one naked, sweaty back and held on for dear life.
And then, the world paused its incessant trembling and I opened my mouth to scream my gratitude to this short respite of steadiness and quiet…even for awhile.
Ahhh.
I slumped under him and smiled at hazel green eyes twinking like the midnight star.
He started moving again… and the storm crashed with such terrifying power over my unsuspecting body…
*this started as a physical journey of a drunkards vomit from the stomach to the ground. And it ended as what? See for your self.
Hehe. Odd right. Not twisted, but disjointed. In a bad, unliterary way....
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Writer's Fix
I do not really have any idea about what I intend to write today.
I have been surfing the net for another job. A job which would provide me with a better disposition and more satisfaction.
For a week now, I tried convincing myself that I feel okay with teaching and somehow, I was able to delude myself quite successfully.
Because now, I could say I love my job, without batting an eyelash. But what I a, doing right now? My subconscious led me (yeah right) to this internet cafe. It made my fingers surf the net and read several job opportunities related to what I have always wanted to be.
What is that?
To become a writer. I have always wanted to become a writer. The problem is, I have never been successful at it.
Well, I do write. I was once a writer in our college publication. I wrote journalistic articles but we also have our bid on the creative since I was able to have 3 poems, two essays and a short story published.
Back in elementary, I used to spend my time writing tagalog plays which I often read to my friends. In highschool, I wrote plots on possible romance novels but I was never able to finish a manuscript.
I do not know why is that. I have wondered about my uncanny ability to plot things out but I find it difficult to sustain them. I used to tell myself that I can do better when I have the time.
Now, I have a second hand laptop, and some time. I also have the resources since I am already a professional teacher employed by the local government. But, somethings wrong...
I tried my hand at a novel. And i feel depresses because I did not have the guts to finish it. I wanted to finish the things, yes. But somethings blocking me and I do not know what it is.
I got stuck with chapter four where the characters are having arguments about how to raise the kids. Oh, they were not married. The lady was the hero's estranged bestfriend whom his aunt hired to watch over his two children.
These children were not really his own but his deceased wife passed it off as his (sounds like a gothic melodaram huh). Now, I do not know what to do with it.
I have been curiously blocked for over two weeks now.
Maybe I should dumped it. Like all the rest.
But I already feel like a bad mother who gave birth to several children whom she later on abandoned.
I really do not know what is wrong with my creativity. How am I going to solve this weirdo problem.
Reading does not work. Long hours of sleep never helped. Drinks, food, thinking time, reflections.... they simply blocked me down further.
What is a writer to do. Huh?
Or am I even a writer?
I have been surfing the net for another job. A job which would provide me with a better disposition and more satisfaction.
For a week now, I tried convincing myself that I feel okay with teaching and somehow, I was able to delude myself quite successfully.
Because now, I could say I love my job, without batting an eyelash. But what I a, doing right now? My subconscious led me (yeah right) to this internet cafe. It made my fingers surf the net and read several job opportunities related to what I have always wanted to be.
What is that?
To become a writer. I have always wanted to become a writer. The problem is, I have never been successful at it.
Well, I do write. I was once a writer in our college publication. I wrote journalistic articles but we also have our bid on the creative since I was able to have 3 poems, two essays and a short story published.
Back in elementary, I used to spend my time writing tagalog plays which I often read to my friends. In highschool, I wrote plots on possible romance novels but I was never able to finish a manuscript.
I do not know why is that. I have wondered about my uncanny ability to plot things out but I find it difficult to sustain them. I used to tell myself that I can do better when I have the time.
Now, I have a second hand laptop, and some time. I also have the resources since I am already a professional teacher employed by the local government. But, somethings wrong...
I tried my hand at a novel. And i feel depresses because I did not have the guts to finish it. I wanted to finish the things, yes. But somethings blocking me and I do not know what it is.
I got stuck with chapter four where the characters are having arguments about how to raise the kids. Oh, they were not married. The lady was the hero's estranged bestfriend whom his aunt hired to watch over his two children.
These children were not really his own but his deceased wife passed it off as his (sounds like a gothic melodaram huh). Now, I do not know what to do with it.
I have been curiously blocked for over two weeks now.
Maybe I should dumped it. Like all the rest.
But I already feel like a bad mother who gave birth to several children whom she later on abandoned.
I really do not know what is wrong with my creativity. How am I going to solve this weirdo problem.
Reading does not work. Long hours of sleep never helped. Drinks, food, thinking time, reflections.... they simply blocked me down further.
What is a writer to do. Huh?
Or am I even a writer?
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