Musings, Misgivings, and a Creative Bug

I've been on a writing prompt kick lately. In that I write a few sentences that could one day prompt a richer story but seem to capture a mood in my head. I've been having a lot that seem to echo some odd, disturbed, childhood that wasn't entirely mine-- one that was mine as seen through a grim and macabre window with curtains that blur the lines of fantasy and reality. It's facinating. It's Edward Gorey meets Guillermo Del Toro. I wish I could write it as clearly as I feel it.

Life is well otherwise. There is my normal restlessness-- my friends (I.E. the two of you who actually might read this) know me well enough to know this dance. So it goes. We'll see where it goes but that's enough writing about it for now.

Here are some of my writing half thoughts. You've (you two people) have most likely already seen it on my facebook and twitter.

I am driving on flooded streets. For all the efforts of man, the forces of nature will always swell and overcome wall, roof, tower, and road to reclaim lost ground.

My facination with the twisted, demented, and macabre has not lessed with age; I've simply learned to hide it better with a practiced mask.

As a child, I lived in a state of terror-- held hostage by my imagination. Sometimes, I miss the purity of those emotions.

When I was little I was afraid of the monsters that lived under my bed and in my closet. No as I grown-up, I'm afraid of the monsters that live next door and what they might do to me.

Beware the man in the well. He will eat your name; catch it in his teeth and devour it whole.

The grass may be greener on the other wide, but in the end it all needs to be weeded and mowed.