I'm only on day 9, and I already am at an utter loss at what to write. Normally I have all kinds of things floating around in my head. All kinds of stories, things to tell. When this happens at any other time, I don't write. But because I have this challenge, I am sitting here, on my bed, writing. Nothing. I suppose that anything is not nothing but this feels utterly banal.
I wonder if it's from my lack of reading anything of substance. This summer has been an orgy of really bad novels. I mean, they were good and fun but they were not...inspiring. They didn't lead to other places. They didn't push me into thinking about anything. But that said, it's been a lovely summer...sort of mentally relaxing. But I know that I need to snap out of it.
The mental vacation is coming to just an end just as summer vacation is coming to an end. Maybe tomorrow will be more fruitful.