Do Not Want
There's a Sandman story about a mediocre writer who enslaves a Muse and forces her to provide him with the ideas he fears he cannot come up with on his own. When his treatment of her becomes intolerable, she calls on the Sandman, her ex, to help. The Sandman, appalled by the writer's actions and his attempts to justify them, serves up a horribly ironic punishment: he gives the writer enough ideas to break his brain.

I'm pretty sure I haven't tried enslaving any Muses, but for some reason I'm suffering the same punishment. So many seductive ideas drift through my brain, and many of them stick, insisting that I need to attend to them or regret it for the rest of my pitiful life. Well, I'm attending to them, but possibly not in the way they were hoping.

At the present time, I do not want to write any more Left Behind fanfic¹. I do not want to write any more chapters of Smut. I do not want to write the beginning and continuation of Revenge Erotica. I do not want to write a novel where the heroes are all girly-men. I do not want to write a novel about a vampire draining the vitality from LGBT youth under the guise of "reprogramming". I do not want to write the novel I didn't get round to planning for NaNo last year. I do not want to explore the gendered assumptions underpinning the "Boom de yada" advert. I do not want to write about how reality should properly be called complexity.

I also do not want to make my leftover chip oil into soap. I think it would probably smell of chips, which is not an entirely positive quality for soap to possess. I do not want to buy a bottle of fresh, unused sunflower oil for the purposes of making soap. I do not want to try rendering down any kind of animal fat for the purposes of making soap. I do not, at this stage of my life, want anything to do with soap beyond buying it in the supermarket and washing my damn hands with it.

I do not want to make a knife out of a tin can and a piece of scrap leather to see how hard it is. I do not want to write a novel about people who make knives out of tin cans and scrap leather. I do not want to write a novel about generational conflict and folk beliefs in the Isle of Axholme. I do not want to write a novel about vampires living rough in Scunthorpe.

Now that I've made all that clear, perhaps whatever is tormenting me with these ideas will leave me alone.

¹Nor do I want to write an essay explaining why I feel "fanfic" is the appropriate term.