I have been battling myself to write. Some say I should record my stories by talking into a microphone. I ask myself, "Do I really want to be that guy who talks to himself out loud?" I do loose thousands of profound sounding lines, as I wobble along the highways and byways, pushing a worn canvas world. People might think I were crazy, if they saw me talking to thin air. It may be a chance I have to take. Writing takes so long. Forcing memories to come when I am sitting at a desk, truthfully, is not working too well. What rolls off my tongue with ease in conversation becomes bogged down when I attempt to write it out. Many of my tales are colorfully brought to mind through conversation with others, but when writing, the trail of thought is cast to the wind with the slightest distraction. Maybe when I put a tape recorder around my neck I may bypass the semantic windmill I battle; like Don Quixote, tossed to the side after being entangled in the blade's fabric with each valiant charge. To this point, my attempts have been unsuccessful against this gigantic foe. Talking to myself might be the solution to this "writer's block".