I'll try not to be a raging downer today.

It's 6am and I'm up.

This is not unusual. I've been falling asleep in unusual positions, then waking up around 6am, then falling asleep again around 7am. I thought I might actually try to get a few words down before conking out again.

Today is my last Fiction I class. I have issues with endings, but I'm not going to put too much emphasis on it.

I have been thinking about my two stories. They're there, in desperate need of revision. I'm going to have to take up that task soon. The first story involves two young girls walking through an overimposing, unfamiliar neighborhood; I know I'm going to have to focus on setting in a way that didn't happen in the first draft.

There's a song still due on Friday, although I did warn Mr. Producer that it might not happen. I've been data-mining for lyrics lately, but not feeling super inspired. The piano is calling me. But I can't think why. I get so extraordinarily moved to go sit down at it. But then I plonk at the keys without much truth or beauty emerging at all.

I'm reading a collection of short stories called Points of View. The stories inside are...wait for it...organized by points of view. But it's fascinating to see them all grouped together like that, to notice the similarities and differences between them, to see how each different author accomplishes his or her aims.

I've been discovering a whole crop of short story authors I dig: George Saunders, AM Homes. There is a dark thread running through their work, a deep groove of twisted sensuality, very stark. Very adult, I think.

It's something I'd like to incorporate into my songwriting.

j.