Now I should write something else. It's been a long time since I wrote anything else, thought about anything else. I should be happy!
I should feel free to spin stories like sugar. Stories that are too brittle and sharp and sweet. I could write them down and swallow them up and never think of them again, if I wanted.
Instead, I haven't written anything. I've agonized and felt misplaced and dull.
I know that to break this spell, all I have to do is write.
"Write anything!" Curt tells me, with an encouraging smile. "Write about the Hoohobbin Clan. Write about Fluffy. Write about all the characters who never get stories of their own. Just for fun. You can show them to me. I'll read them."
Yes, I think. Of course. Just write—for fun. FUN and nothing more. It's so simple! I nod in agreement.
And then when Curt leaves, I draw sketches and mutter to myself and wring my hands and wash the dishes and do anything I can think of except to write.
|The chubby unicorn, the unicorn girl, and me.|
It's strange how the things you love most can also scare you the most.