Let's see if I can continue this and end it well
So I followed up on the whole inspiration paragraph. I really did like it. So, here goes.
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Inspiration refers to an unconscious burst of creativity in a literary, musical, or other artistic endeavor. Literally, the word means "breathed upon" either by the gods (those crazy Greeks), God (those crazy Judeo-Christians), or the mystical winds (those crazy Romantic Era poets). Also, inspiration can also derive from the association of ideas in one's mind (that crazy John Locke), the inner psyche of the artist (the most definitely crazy, Sigmund Freud) or a connection to the universal archetypes of the collective consciousness (the way cooler, but still crazy Carl Jung). But back to those crazy Greeks, inspiration also came in the form of muses; nine of them if I remember correctly, which I don't because my knowledge of Greek mythology stopped at the 5th grade level, and I didn't know much of it then, even though I thought I did. But here in the modern world, muses are everywhere. You either have to find one, make one up, or if you happen to be really lucky, one finds you.
I saw her at a coffee shop sitting all by herself, reading by the front window. I was taking one of the many walks I took when I had no clue as to what to do with my writing, my financial troubles, or just my life. I had been staring at my computer for four hours, and all I could type was "It was a dark and stormy night." I had to sneak out the back stairs just so I didn't have to run into Mrs. Beckett, and tell her I'd be late paying the rent again. It's kinda hard scrounging up the money when you've decided to live the life of a struggling writer. My only option was to walk off all the troubles cluttering up my mind, and just as I was about to give up and walk back, there she was.
I never thought of myself to be the type to prefer blondes but today they appealed to me. Her green eyes glimmered behind her glasses as they lightly scanned through the pages of her book. She sat up straight with impeccable posture, accentuating her slim figure. Her right leg was crossed over her left and her foot was lightly tapping the air, probably moving to the beat of whatever song she was listening to on her I-pod. As I scanned back up to see her face, her eyes met mine.
I'd like to say next that I waved to say hello and she smiled mouthing hello back. Then I'd like to say I went into the coffee shop, sat across from her and started chatting. Finally, I'd like to end it off by saying we dated, we kissed, we got married, and we lived happily ever after. But, that's not what happened. Out of panic and shock that she caught me staring for a good minute I looked away and took a brisk walk far away from what could have been a delightful set of events.
What did I just do?!! I'm stupid! I so, so stupid!!
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Inspiration refers to an unconscious burst of creativity in a literary, musical, or other artistic endeavor. Literally, the word means "breathed upon" either by the gods (those crazy Greeks), God (those crazy Judeo-Christians), or the mystical winds (those crazy Romantic Era poets). Also, inspiration can also derive from the association of ideas in one's mind (that crazy John Locke), the inner psyche of the artist (the most definitely crazy, Sigmund Freud) or a connection to the universal archetypes of the collective consciousness (the way cooler, but still crazy Carl Jung). But back to those crazy Greeks, inspiration also came in the form of muses; nine of them if I remember correctly, which I don't because my knowledge of Greek mythology stopped at the 5th grade level, and I didn't know much of it then, even though I thought I did. But here in the modern world, muses are everywhere. You either have to find one, make one up, or if you happen to be really lucky, one finds you.
I saw her at a coffee shop sitting all by herself, reading by the front window. I was taking one of the many walks I took when I had no clue as to what to do with my writing, my financial troubles, or just my life. I had been staring at my computer for four hours, and all I could type was "It was a dark and stormy night." I had to sneak out the back stairs just so I didn't have to run into Mrs. Beckett, and tell her I'd be late paying the rent again. It's kinda hard scrounging up the money when you've decided to live the life of a struggling writer. My only option was to walk off all the troubles cluttering up my mind, and just as I was about to give up and walk back, there she was.
I never thought of myself to be the type to prefer blondes but today they appealed to me. Her green eyes glimmered behind her glasses as they lightly scanned through the pages of her book. She sat up straight with impeccable posture, accentuating her slim figure. Her right leg was crossed over her left and her foot was lightly tapping the air, probably moving to the beat of whatever song she was listening to on her I-pod. As I scanned back up to see her face, her eyes met mine.
I'd like to say next that I waved to say hello and she smiled mouthing hello back. Then I'd like to say I went into the coffee shop, sat across from her and started chatting. Finally, I'd like to end it off by saying we dated, we kissed, we got married, and we lived happily ever after. But, that's not what happened. Out of panic and shock that she caught me staring for a good minute I looked away and took a brisk walk far away from what could have been a delightful set of events.
What did I just do?!! I'm stupid! I so, so stupid!!