Plot Bunnies are wonderful if they appear when needed; if not they can be a downright annoyance. I’m not a real writer, not yet; I still consider myself a writer in training, (and probably always will, if I ever manage to publish a book I may consider myself a real writer), but I still suffer from bouts of writers block, and then the attack of the bunnies.

Some ideas are brilliant ones that you can note down and save for a rainy day; those are the ones that you want to writ when you feel that you are at your best. I like saving those ideas until I’ve got lots of spare time, time that I could possibly spend to perfect them, there’s no point taking a good idea and ruining it by just giving it a five minute rush into a one-shot or a drabble.

While others will bounce around in the back of your mind just begging to be written; it’s these bouncy ones that multiply and continue to hop around until there is nothing left to do but attempt to write them. These ideas are fun for daydreams, but in my case usually come to nothing. It is this nothing which has been fueling my pen for many months. With bouts of writer’s block which appears when there is time to spare, and soo many plot bunnies when I have no spare minutes, never mind an hour.

I my case most of the time the idea rabbits look better in my head than they do on paper. Hence why many never make it out of the notebook. I’ve read a lot of books in my few years on earth, I was the kid in school who prefered a friend of ink and paper, over a friend of flesh and blood; a book will never let you down, the author might, but you can always write your own ending (fanfiction).

I never thought that my writing ever stood up to the standard that I read so much. I still find that my writing is lacking in something, yet all I can do is carry on and keep practicing until I find myself happy with what I have written. I find myself wondering why, often asking where the imagination, that I tried so much to hold on to, has run way. And it seems that I always come back to the point of my education; I should really stop complaining about school, cause I bet someone enjoyed it. Just to explain my point, all of my teachers told me I needed to work with fact and take out the colourful narrative, because the exam boards don’t like it (apparantly).

The bunnies keep feeding me ideas, but I cannot believe that I can do them justice. How I would love to write things that sounded exactly how I expected them to; but that is a skill that can only be found through lots of practice. And in my case I can only figure that its going to require lots and lots of practice.

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