Hi, hothots
Don't you just hate when this happens?:
All the images of what the story could be like flash over your head, all the possible characters and scenes, the possibilities, the potentia-
And then you get a pen and paper, and everything comes out in a muddled mess that looks like a dictionary just had a seizure on an A4 notepad.
This is the point when I usually try to discern what on earth I've just written down. Of course it makes sense in separate components, but together? What? Just..no.
It makes no sense, and the whirlpool has left me with a string of mismatched concepts, taking away the thread that held it all together. A load of ink and paper with so many half-ideas and no actual solid material to work with.
I think my muse has diarrhea.
