Firstly, I think the word broken should be broken somehow, like broeken. I also think that confused, as a word, should be confuzzed. Words should somehow match what they are trying to say.
Now that that’s out of the way: Why am I a broeken lawnmower? Because I start up just fine, cut one thousand blades or so of grass, then putter out. The next day, another, disjoint, patch of one thousand blades is cut. The next day, yet again another disjoint patch. By this point, the first patch has regrown completely.
I have settings with no plot (time travel). I have characters with no conflict (shout-out to my imaginary peoples, Molly and April in particular), But I don’t even have enough of anything to mash it all together, à la Wolf Children style, which we know how well that is going.
Also, I have bought, in the past year, twelve pairs of scissors (two packs of six; the specificity has a reason). I can find, right now, one pair. Is that a story idea? Faeries that steal my goddamn scissors so I’m stabbing at my milk bag with a serrated knife like a maniac? This aside is to let you know I just found one of the pairs of scissors underneath a pile of category theory notes.
I am rambling now. I just want words the same way I want money, to wrap myself up in them like blankets and then swim through them like Scrooge McDuck.