A need for something new

So, my writing is feeling uninspired. I am seemingly out of beginnings for the time being. I noticed this, because what I wrote today was not very good, and I’m not sure if it is because I’ve kind of run out of beginnings for the time being, or if it is because I am MORE interested in pursuing some of the things I’ve started. So it seems my challenge of simply writing ANYTHING is going to have to take a break. Instead, I’m going to make an effort to write something everyday, to further a story I have started.

This seems hard for me. What if I don’t like what I write that day? Should I chunk it and try again, or just keep on moving? Sometimes when I write, I don’t have a plan. I don’t know where it is going, but I know my characters, and I assume they will take me somewhere interesting. I’m afraid if I’m not overly interested in where a character starts to take me, and chunk it, that I will miss things that could have been, and perhaps take a journey which goes in an equally bad or worse direction, because I will be focusing on not going the way I went in the chapter I tossed.

So I’d be interested in seeing what you guys think. Is there any story you liked more? Wanted more? I’m interested in several, but it might be narcissism rather than genuine interest.


Here is the last of my 5-10 minute writing challenges for awhile. From now on, I’ll probably devote something like 30 minutes to writing something. I’ll try and keep posting it, but no promises.

FINAL Challenge:

I lied about being a virgin once. I didn’t like the story about my first time, how I lost it to someone who barely remembered my name, and despite being a good lover, was more interested in his orgasm than making it memorable. The only solace was that it was total darkness, and therefore I really only knew the feeling of sex. I knew how it felt to have him inside me, the short acute pain of penetration, and the incredible rush of pleasure which magnified with each thrust. However, I didn’t know what it looked like. The lack of illumination made me feel like I was in that moment between sleep and consciousness where things from your dreams feel real, but are not. After he was done, I didn’t want to stay. Staying would have made it real, but if I left soon, if I woke up in my own bed, this mistake would just be a bad dream, and I would still have my virginity to give to someone who deserved it.

Thankfully, I didn’t have much time to lie to myself. The boy seemed to know that if he was going to be my first, he had better hurry, so fate seemed to send him to me via express mail. We met on the dance floor, with an instant attraction. He was slim and smooth, and he was a virgin too. I knew I would have mine moment, the sweet tender moment of the two of us fumbling around, trying to make sex into making love. We would be each others first, and therefore always be a part of each others lives.

So I lied. I told him he was my first, and I forced my body to react the same way. The short quiver of anticipation, the moments of uncertainty throughout, even my voice was pinched mimicking the sounds I had made during my first time. He was the one I had wanted, had waited for, and it made me sad I had cheated on him even before I met him. That night, we gave each other bliss, awkward as it was, and I stayed. He held me in the brief periods where we weren’t going at it, and I feel like our lips barely stayed apart.


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