Being a Centipede

The Centipede was happy quite,
Until a Toad in fun
Said, Pray which leg goes after which?
And worked her mind to such a pitch
She lay distracted in a ditch
Considering how to run.

                            - (Mrs. Edmund Craster, d. 1874)

Usually, I find writing easy and enjoyable. And surprising. I seldom know what I'm going to write until it's looking at me from the screen. My characters morph. They change gender and race, they change sexual orientation, coloring and age. They refuse the names I've given them, and choose others. My writing starts with an idea, and goes from there.

Right now, I have several projects I should be working on: two stories, a flash piece and a novel. (Two other stories want to be re-written, but I've buried them three deep in my files, where their squawking is muted.) I can't decide where to start. They're all entertaining, they're all clamoring for headspace. They're jamming the exits, and none of them will download onto my nice white open document.

So I'm hanging around a couple of my favorite forums instead, and writing this LJ