Evening Page

There is really nothing in my mind right now of what to write about. I've just installed XP on the computer, a barrowed CPU from my sister-in-law, and just glad to be back again, having an Internet connection and the chance to check my mails and visit my blogsite and those of my favorites as well. Well, what could I say but I'm still elated that, finally, I'm using a computer that does not hang after several minutes and that tiring and frustrating booting off and on of the pc is over -- I hope. I should have had written an essay this afternoon but I chose to let myself get bruised instead by continuing to write a story that for sometime had been in my mind and part of it written already, though crudely written, of course, since I just realize now that I should have had paid more attention and effort on constructing stories not on practice writing like keeping a journal. Now, old and a decade has past since I said I wanted to be a writer, I'm still learning the basic of story telling. It's very difficult to get the cadence and flow of a story teller, that's what I discovered lately. I haven't developed that skill and somehow, forgot to. But the session this afternoon took a turn when I started feeling the language and the flow and texture of the text. Though I know when I try to look at it tomorrow, I will find it so badly written that I still have to rewrite it fifty more times. Guess, that's all folks. End of yakking.