There are times when I worry about my inability to think of a good story. I look back at the days when I was younger and I was writing all kinds of things right off the top of my head. Going through English class notebooks from high school I’m often amazed that I’m reading my own writing. It’s like two different people: one who is young and creative and smart and one who is old, cynical, uncaring, unfeeling, and has no imagination at all.
So I wonder if this is just a facet of getting older and not exercising my creative side, or is it something more biological?
Nobody likes to think of medical problems or, for that matter, brain problems. I only just recently got over a scare of thinking I had an issue with my noggin fillin’s.
I’ve noticed that I forget a lot of things. Well, not really a lot of things, but enough that I notice that I do it. Mostly it’s in the realm of go to the kitchen to get something and walk out of kitchen with something else and not getting what I wanted to get in the first place. Or forgetting where I put something down after just a few minutes. Things like that.
Or, maybe, it’s just that I don’t care enough to think of something to write. I don’t know how true that is, though, because there are times when I really want to write something, but can’t think of anything. Many times I can’t even think of something to write for this blog that few people read and nobody comments on. What’s the point, right?
Maybe I just don’t enjoy it enough to do it for myself.