Where have all the cowboys gone?

Where have all the cowboys gone?
feeling: giggly
music: the very best of asia lounge - pacific wave

An old friend commented that my writing's improved, and that I've developed a style of my own. I don't know how true that is, but I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that I no longer blog about the tiny mundanities. Nevertheless, it is a compliment much appreciated s.o.s. :)

Bloggers all write for an audience, but I don't have an intended audience anymore. Writers are all to a certain degree narcissistic exhibitors, but my writing of late has become more of self-satisfaction. I write for me. Not a bad thing' cept that I'm trying to make it as a writer, and writers are meant to spin tales and touch lives with the humble magic of language.

I am neither inspired to spin nor weave. I am not inspired, period.

Only at night, as I lay in bed, do vague ideas flutter around in that hazy web of sleep. And I awake, ready to spend another day stuck in the rut.

I'm allowing myself just that bit more of stagnancy. Just a bit more, before I bid goodbye to this aura of grey.

I need to do a lot of reading on Bali if I intend to spin a credible tale. Soon, I will haul myself to the library and then to Pacific Coffee with my macbook. Soon. Soon.