I struggle sometimes with inspiration. On occasion it is swift, unforgiving, and cut-throat, it's blade dancing with me in a ballet of passion and lust, it's righteous hunt for a bard to find it's words... it's forthrightfulness striking at the pure of heart... waitng... waiting to bleed onto the page.
And other times... meh.
It's not so much something that I can talk about in any meaningful way, so much as tell you how it hits me, and whether or not you should worry about it.
These last few months my inspiration has sort of, well, jumped ship. I've tried everything just to arouse the sensation of the word in me. Honestly? Nothing has worked. Not really. So what have I tried?