I woke today in pain, regreting my 12 o’colck start today at work, but appricative of my 4pm ending. My main concern is what should I write about and how do I begain. And also writing about how I’m trying to write my novel is apparently not attractive, according to the Nine critics who think if it doesn’t include George, Johnny Depp or some that involves an advancement in cinematography is a waste. So, I can’t really take that shortcut.
Pause.
The sad part is I think I am just trying to find something to commit to, just to hold onto for the next ?? years I am on the beatiful earth.
I shouldn’t write in the mourning.
It took that one chic who wrote Eat Pray Love like six years to just punch out her novel, and I guess I have been on that path for one year seriously. Not a bad start huh?
