Morbid

Morbid: characterized by or appealing to an abnormal and unhealthy interest in disturbing and unpleasant subjects, esp. death and disease : he hadlong held a morbid fascination with the horrors of contemporary warfare. (the standard definition in the dictionary)
I have a friend that describes my writing as morbid, and that may be true to a point, but I am far from a morbid person. I don't think it's abnormal, unhealthy, disturbing or unpleasant to write like I do - I think it's quite normal. We all know there is a dark side to life, and I'm more than willing to write stories that take you where you'd dare not tread. 
There is a downside. I have an overactive imagination that has me thinking way too much. 
It's late: is it safe to go to the store at midnight? I looked over my shoulder the whole time (my life is that uninteresting). It will make a great Facebook post, lol.

There is a panel van parked next to my car: is there someone trapped inside that needs my help? I could swear I heard someone knocking from inside. I stopped and listened, but realized it must be my imagination. (I gave it a good second look, and tried to memorize the company name on the side).
I wonder how good a witness I'd be because I already forgot the damn name!

To be or not to be

To be or not to be is the question. Should I remove every passive word and replace them with active ones? Can it be done? Should it be done?

I have faced these tough questions, and yes, I have come to the conclusion I need to rewrite using an active voice. I'll be passive when I need to be passive, and sometimes I need to passive. Just like I need to listen and take what someone else says no matter how it makes me feel.

At this point, I feel like I took five steps backward and wonder if I can rise above this like I have every other thing. Hell yes I can! Like many writers' before me, if I knew what I knew now - I probably would have learned to knit instead.

I have nearly finished rewriting my whole novel, but now need to go back in and start over. Taking a few days break I realize I overreacted, but I see the light now.

The who/where/when/why/how element is present. Walking my characters through their five senses is a bit more complex for me. They can see, and smell, but I have forgotten about hearing, touch and taste.

I bought a book by Robert Walker here called Dead On Writing. I found the information in this book to be helpful.

I'm ready to complete this journey - are you ready to continue to follow me? I hope so because I'd be lost without you.

Geez

Things to do when your power cuts out for an unknown reason.


Bitch and moan because you haven't taken your shower yet, and you have a dentist appointment.

You think, hey I can still cook I have a gas stove - no it's an electronic ignition.

Bitch and moan even more when you realize you can't watch American Idol you taped on DVR last night.

Damn I'm hungry!

I wonder when the power will come back on, sigh.

I wonder if there is somehow an open network, so I can go online, not happening.

Lightbulb goes off, and I remember I have a laptop with at least an hour worth of power.

Is it actually 8:16 or is that when the power went off.

Hey how in the hell is the clock still working if there is no power (I'm blond, don't hate me).

Another light bulb goes off: I have a refrigerator full of alcohol and it would be a shame to let it get warm.

So here I am pondering what to do when my stomach is killing me. I should just go to bed.

This is a great f@ckin why to start a seven night off stretch.

I could write a blog. Do some rewriting  and editing, or read one of the many ebooks I just bought.

I never noticed before how silent it can be, and I can actually hear birds chirping outside. I can even hear cars moving on the freeway from a distance.

I hope this isn't the apocalypse, but it can't be, as I don't hear zombies banging on my door. If they did, this would at least be interesting. Not interesting as a short story, but interesting enough all the same.Nick just left for his appointment now, and I'm all alone, just you and me.

Is that a garbage truck I just heard. Is it possible that life exists beyond the confines of this apartment complex?? I hear footsteps. Are they coming for me? All I have to protect me is my damn cat and lord knows she can't even catch a mouse.

I'm doomed. This is the end. The garbage truck keeps getting closer and closer, until . . .

It's sort of lulling me to sleep. I never realized before how loud those trucks can be. Its breaks are squeaking and I keep hearing the chi, chi, chi sound.

I'm hiding behind my curtains, so they won't find me, maybe they don't even know I'm here.

Be silent Madison be silent. You don't want the garbage trucks to come and get you.

I can still hear them banging away at the dumpsters, although from a distance now.

Oh god, make them go away!

Don't let them get me.

Damn I'm hungry!

The lights just came on, hooray, surely the garbage trucks will go away now!


Writers find a way even if left in the dark, lol.