Writing is usually a process of elimination until… I don’t know- nothing is really there.

When walking my dog, I usually carry a book. Sometimes I read the book voraciously as Tobey walks at will. Sometimes I just carry the book- reassured that should Armageddon occur, I will find myself seated amidst the chaos- casually reading- because now I have time. Sometimes I just read a sentence or two- inspired by words that I feel are exactly the ones I need for whatever writing I’m doing at the time. Those words will then be mulled over as I complete the walk. And I’ll end up writing them on large pieces of paper and see where it goes. It’s usually a process of elimination until… I don’t know- nothing is really there.

Today I came across the phrase: persistent anxiety.

It resonated with me in regards to explaining the main character of my graphic novel. I entered some notes on my phone and then jotted down a variety of combinations on newsprint.

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I ended up with:

The ground rushes towards her and through her, the once dream-full life now extinguished by necessity. The darkness illuminates this child of circumstance. Drowning from within, she chokes on thick secrets. Her star, once glimpsed by stolen sideway glances, died long ago.

But seriously, as I look at it, I should really just write:

 Her Catholic childhood was fucked up. She had TB. She committed suicide.

SIGH 

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