| Humor Flash Fiction posted January 24, 2021 |
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I'm too busy writing to write
The Irony of Immersion
by Elizabeth Emerald
In December, I posted a flash about my tradition of writing Happy New Year letters in lieu of sending Christmas cards. Some years I'd write in the lull between the holidays; some years I'd write on New Year's Day. I'd look forward to my writing sessions and thoroughly engage in the process.
Today, January 24th, having put off the task day after day, I finally wrote the letters.
In light of my profession of enjoyment, you may rightly wonder at my procrastination.
More to the point: What finally inspired me to overcome it?
The instant of inspiration occurred the very moment that this site crashed.
StoryLand is my virtual place of residence; the house and its accoutrements, such as my desk and the stationery within its drawers, are superfluous to my daily existence. Having been unceremoniously evicted from my home, I was obliged to stop by the house, where I tarried long enough to write the requisite letters.
By the time I'd finished, StoryLand's gates were, mercifully, swinging free. I forthwith made my escape from the ever-encroaching filth and disrepair of the money pit, lest I become trapped into tending its sundry ills.
My assertion stands: I look forward to my writing sessions and thoroughly engage in the process.
In December, I posted a flash about my tradition of writing Happy New Year letters in lieu of sending Christmas cards. Some years I'd write in the lull between the holidays; some years I'd write on New Year's Day. I'd look forward to my writing sessions and thoroughly engage in the process.
Today, January 24th, having put off the task day after day, I finally wrote the letters.
In light of my profession of enjoyment, you may rightly wonder at my procrastination.
More to the point: What finally inspired me to overcome it?
The instant of inspiration occurred the very moment that this site crashed.
StoryLand is my virtual place of residence; the house and its accoutrements, such as my desk and the stationery within its drawers, are superfluous to my daily existence. Having been unceremoniously evicted from my home, I was obliged to stop by the house, where I tarried long enough to write the requisite letters.
By the time I'd finished, StoryLand's gates were, mercifully, swinging free. I forthwith made my escape from the ever-encroaching filth and disrepair of the money pit, lest I become trapped into tending its sundry ills.
My assertion stands: I look forward to my writing sessions and thoroughly engage in the process.
Today, January 24th, having put off the task day after day, I finally wrote the letters.
In light of my profession of enjoyment, you may rightly wonder at my procrastination.
More to the point: What finally inspired me to overcome it?
The instant of inspiration occurred the very moment that this site crashed.
StoryLand is my virtual place of residence; the house and its accoutrements, such as my desk and the stationery within its drawers, are superfluous to my daily existence. Having been unceremoniously evicted from my home, I was obliged to stop by the house, where I tarried long enough to write the requisite letters.
By the time I'd finished, StoryLand's gates were, mercifully, swinging free. I forthwith made my escape from the ever-encroaching filth and disrepair of the money pit, lest I become trapped into tending its sundry ills.
My assertion stands: I look forward to my writing sessions and thoroughly engage in the process.
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