I Can't Sleep

I think I want to write a book.

That's probably just because I've been reading a lot lately. A trend that I hope keeps up, but probably won't.

Still though. I wonder what my book would be about?

I remember learning that you should write what you know. But what do I know?

I know how to struggle with writing. Maybe I could write about a writer who's struggling to write.

But what's the end goal? Why would that be interesting?

Maybe he witnesses a murder, and now he's swept up in solving the case? Sounds a bit Gillian Flynn-esque.  Plus, I don't know anything about solving murders. All the cops on TV usually do it in 44 minutes or less. I betting there's more to it than that.

So then what would I write about? How much I miss home?

I miss having seasons. Not this season. St. Louis can keep that humid shit. But the smell of fall, discolored leaves strewn about, the feel of winter on the horizon; there's nothing like that.

I think about home a lot lately. I think it's human nature to crave the familiar when faced with so much uncertainty.

Maybe I could write about home? There once was a writer in St. Louis. He wrote and wrote until he couldn't write anymore. Then, one day he looked around and realized he was still in St. Louis, and he killed himself. Not exactly a feel good ending.

Who am I kidding, I could never write a book. Books are big. Too big. I can't write a book. I can't seem to write anything anymore. I sit at this computer and I try and try to make words come out. But I've been dry for over a year now. I tell people I'm still writing, but it's a lie. I just can't seem to do it. I have an idea. I try to work it out, but eventually I find more reason to abandon it than to try to work it out. And yet I still claim to want to be a television writer. That's funny.

I can't even get a real television job, just more and more of this reality bullshit that has oversaturated the airways.

Everyone else seems to be working towards there dreams. I don't even know how to work towards mine. All of my work is taking me in the wrong direction. And it's damn near impossible to change the direction. It's not like a car that can turn and reverse on command. It's more like I'm floating through space, with no power to do anything to stop my current course. I just have keep floating and hope that something or someone comes along and bumps me in the way I need to go. But I'm low on oxygen.