i want to write to you my love

*sung to the tune of Regina Spektor’s ‘I Want to Sing’*

How do you make yourself write?
Not just blogs (which I have enough trouble making myself update as it is), but WRITING; poetry, novels, scripts, fairy stories, childrens books.
All of these I have in my head.
Yet, my hand resists putting them down on flesh-and-blood paper.

My guru and inspiration Rhys just writes.
Like Nike just does it.
He will go home, and write. For two and a half hours straight.
I’m lucky to get a good half hour once a week.

Yet, I sit at work and crave (like scones and jam and cream) to write for a living.
I want the world in my head to translate beautifully and effortlessly (or at least with very little effort) to the world of reality, linking the two for the enjoyment of children and adults with Peter Pan syndrome.

Does anybody have an idea on how to MAKE myself write (because I know that I’m good, and I have talent, and I need to do this or it will go to waste for the rest of my life)?
I tried to make Marty and Jonni chase me up about it, every time they see me, asking me if I have done any writing today.
It didn’t work however.
I haven’t been enquired after once.
*sigh*

So, any other ideas?

Also, in other news, it is only two more sleeps until The Boy and I fly to the Sunshine Coast to have a holiday, so I can go to my youngest sister’s Year 12 Formal, and so he can meet the ‘rents.

And, I dyed my hair. Red. Copper. Orange. Auburn. Chestnut. Ranga. Whatever.
I like it.
It’s kind of hippie.

Highlighted And Irreversible Ranga