I walked into my room this evening after and discovered that moonlight was streaming in my very high, almost skylight windows. The silvery light suddenly made my boring old room so mysterious... and before I knew it I was spinning stories in my head.

Normal by daylight, Roxeena's room transformed in the moonlight of only the deepest nights. Realities met here like old dust laden spider webs long forgotten in murky corners. Like a broken window, fine lines of warped time and space glimmered in the silvery light. Roxeena knew adventures awaited her but which should she choose tonight?

Her eyes searched the room. To the ancient castle of Svern perched high on the peak of a snow covered mountain where she was a revered magic caster? Or to depths of Bordul, a dirty city seething with tightly packed humanity where she was leading a rebellion against the tyranny of a dictator who was more machine than man. Roxeena's eyes alighted on a web she hadn't noticed for many months. Yes, that was the one for tonight. She gently touched the fine lines and felt the coolness of the broken reality slip like silk through her fingers.

And so the story goes... but not just one story, there are so, so many. The only problem is that none of the stories ever end. My stories change and morph with me. They will probably never end because my creativity is so fluid (or fickle). What was such a great idea yesterday is a horrible, totally predictable idea today.

Always compelled to write, never able to finish anything. A tortured writer.