Yes, sleepy habits are getting in my way again.  I write, I sleep.   It’s like reading a good novel and your eyes get heavy and before you know it; poof you find yourself in dreamland.  Writing is becoming an ordeal of trying to stay awake after the last word gets typed and trying to just write.  I want to write, I like the bleak and dismal story but I hate I get so tired afterwards.  I believe it’s worse than writer’s block.

Image every writer out there typing away and filling up blank spaces with letters forming into words and just about the time they have the whole idea out of their heads they fall asleep.  Their noggins bang against plastic keyboards and sore foreheads are felt days later.  It’s enough to make a writer think twice about the act of sharing their stories.

Still I feel the need, the urge and the desire to share.  Headache or not.   I finished the short story expect for one scene has to get the last lines done.  It means more or less I’m to the wonderful world of drafts.  It’s a short story at only about 6000 words so I am not in total fear my life will be lost to the endless drafts.  I am worried about sleeping too much, gaining weight and feeling rather dull from writing but as I said I can’t stop.  Not now.  I’m so close to a finished something.

Bleak as it may be.  And it is very bleak.  Borderline …oh what is beyond bleak and dismal… what world lies beyond the graves of people and the sadness of grief… well whatever lies beyond that is almost where this story starts, is and ends.  Very sad, bleak and well dismal.  Not a hero and savior story.  Not even close.  No one finds a way to switch the hell they live in or change human kind in some dramatic way where everyone turns into the nicest of creatures.  Nope.  This story starts with dying hope and ends there.  The point of the whole thing is there really isn’t one.  There isn’t a reason to be on this journey if you can call it that.  Its more about wanting to know why or how bad is this place or how bad can it get?  I think that is why I wanted to write it out and why anyone would ever read it.  They will want to know how bad is bad and how the blank did the world get here.  Past that I doubt there is any reason to read or write a story like this one.

Now I finished writing in my blog, sad to say, I now need a nap.  One day I’m going to figure out how to escape the sand man and his power over my writing.  I swear he hears the keys as my fingers hit them and rushes to my side to see if it might be words in a story, words in my blog or perhaps words in my novel.  He then hits me a good one across the head which of course I only feel in droopy eyes and heavy limbs.

Oh well no need to fight him tonight, maybe tomorrow.. maybe.