I wrote a letter
on a beacon of hope
gave fate the return address
but sadly, I still sit and wait
for tomorrow
and tomorrow
maybe tomorrow
but sadly, tomorrow never comes
every day is a search
every day a wish
please
please
oh please
but sadly, nothing is found or returned
some days I see shadows
some nights a mirage
could it be
could it be
could it be
but sadly, none of them are really you
there are moments where I believe
there are moments where I truly feel
that I will see you again in time
as it passes
and passes
and passes
but sadly, you're still disappeared
Frustrated because that momentum you have with writing has now been sabotaged by the process of editing? Stop and take a break. Allow some time for your creative session to cook. Even days. Fresh eyes are kryptonite to the backspace key. You can correct me if I am wrong. – Ash
One of my bad habits with writing is rewriting my work before I have given it a chance to cook a bit. I am impatiently hanging on a paragraph and the paragraphs before it. In a second, the momentum gets sabotaged because I’m too busy going back to edit. Stories change all the time. Ideas evolve and can head in any direction at any time. So, the next time you sit down to write, remember it is better to collect your thoughts than to correct your thoughts. Make good with your time dancing with creativity. Because it is the rhythm of the write, the write, oh yeah! – Ash
I went to a coffee shop tonight and wrote. I do that from time to time. It was very productive, always is because of the atmosphere. Sometimes writer’s block is not about where you are in your head. It could very well be about where you are physically. Change your space, I bet you’ll change your pace. – Ash
Write in every emotion. Happy, sad, betrayed, excited, vulnerable…whatever. Whatever you feel at a particular moment. When you allow the heart to dictate, the story writes itself. – Ash
If you get an idea, take a second and record it. By whatever means necessary. Because I bet the last time you got inspired, you figured you’d remember your creative thought, you didn’t, and now you hate yourself for it. A jot can become a lot, just write. – Ash
In the hours where most sleep I sit in a purple lit booth something beautiful catches eyes as they adjust neon lights flicker as it dances…I watch soft music plays the soundtrack of inhibitions leaving fake smoke to cloud judgement so what is seen is seen what is felt is felt the night, the morning, make love to born a single time where mistakes are suppressed by the high of letting go bartenders, over there gossip, whisper, and glare still tolerant of these patron games but only until the last tip nothing good comes of the hours between night and day it is where fantasies live in the moment and shadows hide the truths of deception for the thrill of finding places that the world forgets about are games played by strangers in pass with lost souls, bruised hearts, and access to the wrong medicine
Earth To Ash 