Blue Lines

EDIT on my profile: Recently, I decided I was wrong and Walter Wellesley Smith was right. Big shocker there. Writing is opening a vein, I'll admit that much... I think the problem I haven't been finding the right ones. Sometimes things are so in sync and pounding along so rhythmically--the sound of my clack-clacking keyboard versus my warbling brain, singing words from my heart--that I begin to doubt it was any other way. Two thousand words later... I am stuck. Again. I never thought it was going to be easy. I guess I underestimated the power of words stuck in the back of my throat. Sometimes I feel like I'm choking on the story and some experience is going to be my Heimlich maneuver (sp?) so the ink soars and I am finally freed from this madness. Freedom is a long way off. :)