TheDaydreamers

Somewhere in the depths of my mind is an everlasting well of ideas. But sometimes it's hard to lift the heavy lid. And around it has grown up a tangled jungle called Real Life, making it hard to find amongst the clusters of thoughts. The very thing that I used to love escaping from has subdued me, caught me in its grasp. I used to write instinctively, without thinking. I hated having to analyse language in English lessons, because I didn't believe that writers put any conscious thought into their work. Now, I'm more than happy to analyse everything I read or write - which leaves less room for sudden flashes of inspiration. I believe that once