Writing prompts I somewhat follow # 1

Allison says in her email “write like a motherfucker”. I repeat it to myself three times, like a mantra, and the command sends a rush of energy through my veins. Embolden, I open a word document in one of the two monitors I have at work while I go through daily prompts in the other, trying to choose one that sets the mood, one that gets me writing like a motherfucker.

Bravery escapes me as I go down the list of prompts without finding one that I actually feel like writing about. Even the blinking cursor in my still blank word document seems to be getting impatient. How am I supposed to write like a motherfucker if I can’t find the drive to write like a non-motherfucker?

Then I stumble upon “daily prompt 623: birthdays” and I think… what a coincidence! 6-23 is my birthday! Something has finally caught my attention, and I have the feeling that I should be writing about birthdays, but here I am, thinking -and writing- about coincidences instead.


Once again I got distracted. It happens too often, too easily -although I like to think of it more as snow bowling (better or worse?). Truthfully, I don’t completely abandon a topic -I link it to another that invariably follows a third, and I cascade after them. But I don’t see it through either. I don’t pick a bull, grab it by its horns and hold on tight. I don’t seize one dream. Instead, I pursue a wide range of them, dividing my energies among so many, one rarely gets enough. I’ve been like that since I can remember. It’s probably why I start so many projects, look for other perspectives, expect different outcomes from the same actions even when I’ve been told that is the exact definition of insanity. I should probably toss a few mental farts here and there. I should set them free and watch them grow or die on their own, liberated. I’m an idea hoarder. In the same way most people accumulate stuff always in hope of putting it to good use one day, I  hold on to each idea, each though, raw, liquefied, transformed, not letting go still.

What was I writing about? Birthdays? I see it, that’s what prompts are meant for, take you somewhere, anywhere. Yet here I am, miles away from mine and steering further. I guess it all comes down to the fact that I’ll be 36 in a few days and I don’t feel like talking about birthdays.

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