Just like everything I start, it seems like some days are more difficult than others. Writing prompted by images, especially images that are not my own, is not as easy as I had thought. Or maybe it has nothing to do with that. Maybe, it's just writing in general.
On Labor Day, I got home about 6 p.m. from B.B. Rover's 101 club party and passed out. I then woke up at 10:30 p.m. I took a shower and attempted to go back to sleep. I was tired, but I couldn't sleep at all, so I thought about things instead.
I thought about that book I started writing when I was 17. I had my parents buy me a laptop so my work could be portable. I got about three chapters in and quit. Why do I always do this? This is probably good thing because I definitely wasn't mature enough at 17 to write this book.
Friday, I will be 27. A while back, someone told me that 27 was a pinnacle year. Something like a pre-mid-life crisis. Perhaps now I've had the right amount of life experience to write a coming-of-age novel. So, I thought about the story-line of my book. I made a couple improvements, now I just need to find some time during the day to devote to this. That's going to be the hard part.
Maybe I can fit it in between my work, painting, band, yoga and internet addiction.
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