Snippet..

 The discipline of writing is more difficult than the writing itself for me. I write plenty in my head all day though precious little of it makes it to print. 

Yesterday was again a day of doubt. I struggle with the blue moodiness of life. Plus, I am not a good people person. Perhaps I read too much into peoples’ intents and actions? I dunno. I just know I struggle and come out too often on the wrong side of alone and disgruntled. I do not have a bad life and I am not a miserable person nor a miserable failure. Funny how I can know this and not feel it so much of the time. The people, women, girls really, I work with are abysmal. Concerned with tv shows, fad diets, mean gossip..I find myself cringing much of the time. Then I shrug and wonder why I care. I get paid well for putting up with what I do. So..put up and shut up, eh?

I have much of the back story for my writing project. Now I need to flesh out some characters. I’d really love to talk to some older souls who have lived through WW2 to do that though. Reading accounts of ww2 helps but doesn’t replace voice, inflection, gestures,  body language, eyes…  

So difficult to watch coverage about the Boston Marathon bombing. I go around with huge lumps in my throat when I think about it. Senseless and sad. A small taste of the constant fear people in the Middle East conduct themselves with every day. 

I need to write more but I also need to go bathe babies. 

Peace, today.