Narrative urges - they come and go as unpredictably as the spawning of twisters on a muggy, summer eve. One moment, the blood rushing through my fingers as they fly across the keyboard can barely keep up with the ideas cascading out of my mind, but the next instant, a blank wall staring back at me with deafening silence.
Lately I've been sensing a pulsating beat, emanating from somewhere within my being. Words and phrases, cooking under a gentle boil, simmering in wait, occassionally rising to the surface where they pop and spew their creative juices onto my canvas primed for alphanumeric characters.
Not yet, but soon. I promise.
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