Suddenly I find myself beset by the flapping wings of too many half-formed ideas. It could be the straying focus of a mind forced into mid-winter isolation. Or it could be a newfound need to obsess over details. But it's become much easier for me to begin projects than to bring them to completion.
My list of in-progress items includes three poems in various stages (working titles: Turn tables, Transparency, and A Hungry Ghost); the rough sketch of a new drawing (tentatively called New Life Sprouting); an outline of the next installment in my series of philosophical essays (Questioning people's motives); plus the very slow to resuscitate next chapter of my short story Belly.
It will help me finally grasp the annoying buggers if I publicly set a deadline for myself. So, I'll commit to completing the essay by tomorrow. And I should have Transparency ready by the weekend.