What am I doing?

As of yet, I have not started writing regularly. So what's the point of this blog?

Instead of writing, I have been spending a lot of time thinking and have been reading. I am also listening to a few writing podcasts. I did write a small bit when a line came to my head. It's not a story yet, so I don't want it here. In fact, I think I should stop posting things that are not stories. The little bits might be interesting, but they are certainly incomplete and a disappointment if you wanted a story. If all I write are small excerpts, I won't be as motivated to write stories.

Within the next two weeks, I will attempt to complete a short story to post here. I hope someone is reading to make it worthwhile.

Mysterious beginning

The shadow on the wall was enough to make a mortal shiver in anticipation. There she was. And there she moved. Her hands moving across her body as though applying lotion more than removing clothing. I hear her breath. I hear the whisper of the clothing as it falls to the floor. I cannot see her, only the shadow of her form from the other room. The shadow, cast by the light of candles, dances as she dances.

Her footsteps come softly to my ears. I can hear her, I can feel her warmth in the room. I close my eyes and wait. I feel her breath on my neck as she leans in close to me. She is there. I could touch her, hold her, kiss her.

I feel a cool breeze from the window and smell the sweet fragrance of a moist cool spring evening. Then the wind blows harder and I hear the whistle. The candles blow out, I open my eyes, and she is gone.

Gone.

No noise, no word, no anything, just gone.

Was she real? Is it happening again? I try to stay calm and enjoy the last remaining moments of sweet remembrance before panic sets it. Then I smell a soft bit of fragrance. She was real. I smell the candles from the other room. It was all real. Then what happened?

I slowly allow myself to return to the now. I try to store every last detail to savor as a memory for the times I am alone and need to know what life can be like. I move to the next room to find her clothing on the floor. Not a hallucination. Not a fantasy. Not this time.

There will be questions. There were always questions. So many and so fast. Someone knows the truth and wants it hidden. That's why they use me. Who would believe me? Who would trust me?

She would have. She did. I can't for the life of me figure out why, but it won't be for nothing. Not this time.

Stagnation already

Well, I created a specific blog to make myself write, and yet it has failed to compel me to write. How terrible.

I must move on and forge ahead. In leiu of writing, I have been practicing other skills that will help when making a movie, including editing and compression. So, sometime in the future this may still end up being something interesting to read. I guess I can post the mood piece I have in here. It's not a story, but it was an exercise I did to create a mood. I was pleased with the results, but would like to put it into a story at some point.