Creative spew

I want to write something. I like to write. The feel of the keys as I push them down, the flow of the letters, the interruption of a misspelled word, the back spacing. The rush of a sentence without mistakes. The smooth gliding of ink on paper, the flourishes handwriting gives to intense words, the subtle clues in the slant of the words, the beauty of words crossed out in graphite, written back in above, erased, and finally, replaced. I have nothing to write about. I have a number of halfcompleted stories, episodes, teasers of plot lines that I haven’t reached yet, but nothing I can continue without the guilt of raping a story. Is there something I could write right now? Just make something up? Part of my problem is that now I like to know where I’m going with a story. Map it out ahead of time. Well, I’ll need a setting. Oh, my kidnapped story. Have I started that? Don’t think so.