My inspiration is like a dead fish. A dead fish that has rotted to the point where it's unidentifiable, a fish that once smelled vaguely of tuna and might at one point have been edible, but is probably poisoned with toxins, mercury, and so on and so forth. I haven't written or worked on my story in over two months. All the while I've been hearing from a lot of fellow amateur writers about how they've begun to write a play, or the plot for his or her story is flowing splendidly since he/she's made a few changes to the beginning. I have a feeling that I'm better at helping other people come up with ideas for their stories than coming up for my own, since a lot of the time I end up throwing out a lot of ideas from looking over other people's work, compared to what little feedback I get about my own. The problem for me is that I really need to be able to visualize the scene and the people involved, and if I can't do that then I can't write the freaking story.

As far as that goes, my writing slump is going to influence my plans for tomorrow, and hopefully for the next week. Tomorrow I'm gonna hit the town, walk around, stop in at the library, and take photographs of anything that looks remotely interesting. When I get home and put them on my computer, the next task is going to be a little writing exercise: writing a small story about each photograph, and picking one out of all those which I take and attempting to draw it. I think I will try and continue to come up with writing exercises for myself once every week at the very least, in hopes that it will keep my skills somewhat sharp and I might learn something from the experience. I think that's basically what I'm all about...living for the experience of it, to give me something worth writing about.