The Tip of My Tongue

An hour ago I was writing, putting another layer of polish on a story I don’t know where to send. I was wrestling with a sentence. It was good, but I thought with the right tweaks to it and the paragraph around it, it could be great. Great doesn’t happen very often, not often at all, and I was going for greatness with everything I had.

I sat back at one point, distancing myself from the work for a moment, and thought about something interesting. Something essay-worthy. I mentally composed a few sentences and eyed the button that would bring my blog software forward, thinking that I should jot down a few notes. Before I did that, however, I had an idea for the story at hand, and back I went.

Now, I remember having the idea. I remember mulling the idea. I don’t remember the idea. I haven’t given up on it; ideally there will be an episode immediately after this one that is insightful and erudite, shining a literary beacon on the human psyche.

Right now, however, I’m pissed off.

11 thoughts on “The Tip of My Tongue

  1. Some people might drink mimosas with their eggs, but those who know, know. The OJ is in one glass, refilled as necessary to make up for the night before. When you start eating the eggs over easy, it can only be champagne.

  2. I’m sure you meant to write “only be champagne OR an 8AM Guinness Stout Bar Special.” The call to “kill the keg” cannot be ignored no matter how you like your eggs.

  3. What?! pL is Jerk McSwede? Another nom de plum blown. That only leaves Squirrely Joe and F-G-F as regular posters hiding behind assumed identities. Somebody get Richard Armitage on this.

  4. squirely joe, I’ll check, but I don’t think I have an image to put next to your work. And for all Funkmaster G-Force has been around, there are no F-G-F poems either.

    There was a time when blogcomm, the voice of the collective, was more active, and there have been some others as well. Of course, the posts by the notable celebrities hitting on me were all completely legitimate (I seem to recall Linda Carter chiming in a while back), but in general the little dogs have of late been faster of late pulling aside curtains than false wizards have been at building emerald cities.

    Addendum: I lied. There is an F-G-F poem, and it is accompanied by an image I selected arbitrarily.

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