Ah… my brain is burning.

I wish I could claim it was just the heat.

Here lately I have been getting spurts of inspiration… and urges to write or create. It always makes me feel like I’m feverish.

I can remember when I wrote when the muse struck me and the idea of using prompts seemed like cheating. Now, the prompts are more like a spring board. I am often less worried about the prompt than I am what I want to say.

I end up feeling like the prompts don’t fit with the idea of the volume I have been working on and I pass them by. I get a vision of what I want the book to look like and then I just don’t want it to be anything less.

Now that leads me down rabbit holes looking for just the right prompt, just the right idea to be just the right poem. Perhaps perfectionism is a true problem…