Whenever I try to write something out of the blue, there are dozens of ideas popping out of my mind. Sometimes my writing can’t run as fast as the thoughts spreading all over my head. This is when I become too lazy to browse through the words, images, or sounds under the pile. So, I begin a story with colorful settings, engaging actions, interesting characters, but as it progresses, the life withers. Slowly. Fading. My mind catches too many distracting new sights, music, words, etc. etc.
This tale goes on and on for days, weeks, months, or even years. A great story half untold lies beneath the mountain of wavering spirits and forgotten dreams. Sometimes I am able to walk back. Scan those unfinished works and do my best to continue where I left. But the feeling isn’t the same. The memories are only fragments of myself. Change is inevitable. That half-written great poem, short story, or novel will never be the same. All of those beginnings might sound inspiring, charming, or even fascinating. In reality, none of them will have a great ending.
I write like this. As I learn more about myself, the random, annoying side of me takes over. Great beginning, but ultimately failed and dragging ending leads the writing.