Boy, is it hard to keep BALANCE sometimes. Keeping up with life AND trying to fit in time to write…. that is a challenge. I start to think of ways to get more time in for writing – ‘Well, If I had woke up 2 hours ago.’ ‘If I only played 1 hour of video games.’ ‘Do I really need to spend time eating?’
All things considered, I find that the more I write, the easier it comes to me, and the more time I magically have in my day to commit to writing. Once I stop writing, it becomes harder to start back up. I get a little rusty and have to start over.
The good news is, I finished my character back story and bio. I know, you don’t NEED either of them to write well at all. You may not need them, but I am so particular about the way I do things I have to build things from the ground up or everything will just get lost in the void. My mind just becomes this violent, thrashing ocean of ideas and words when I am deep in thought. And I am going to need a bigger boat.
Any who, three cheers for me. I finished a bio and back story. This basically sets me up right to the point we want to be in our book so I can begin Chapter 2. The character is Morgan Avery. She plays a big part in said book. She comes from a broken home and abusive parents. The following excerpt is after she had went out for a bit to escape her drunk father and came to the revelation – she is moving out.
Thank you all for reading!
P.S. My food is finished, it is time to finally catch up and watch the first episode of the new season of True Blood! ::excited squeal::
Just some free-writing for today. The boyfriend is on his way home from work with dinner and I had work today, so my feet are tired and my belly is rumbling. I will leave you with an entry from what I would like to call the Diaries of the Dead, excerpts and writing from those who lived during the “Zombpocalypse”(Lol Eric). Just a small idea I had gotten while bored at work one day, this is the first piece I wrote for it. I promise is nice and short. Hope you all enjoy it!
P.S. Dinner is a Chipotle Burrito with chicken, cheese, salsa, and pinto beans. I want you all to be jealous.
I hope this letter finds you well. How are the kids, Frustration and Rage? And how is Despair, your husband? Still hanging in there is he? I wonder what you are us to now? Still breakin’ hearts I hope. You know me, breaking a new heart everyday.
But, I am not writing this letter to ask how you are, I need to know! You can’t just keep leading me on like like this. This is silly! I need to know your choice! We can’t Keep this up, ignoring your husband. You need to push him off that ledge he’s clinging to. You can’t keep telling me you love him. After last night, after what you said, after what you did I can’t believe you any longer. You are just so mad at everything he does! I love it! It just turns me on so much to watch you yell about him, or me, anyone really, as long as you’re channeling that beautiful, beautiful feeling.
Enough of this mushy stuff, Anger! I need to know if you’re going to throw Despair into the arms of Hope and accept me as the man in your life. We have been playing this game for too long and I need to smarten up! No more playing with my heart unless we do it as Lust and Anger. I will even raise his children as my own if I must! Make up your goddamned mind! This craziness must end, and end soon. For if we do not become one, I will tell Despair of what we’ve been doing myself, and I will make him mine if I cannot have you to myself!
Best regards, I hope you make a decision soon.
All my love,
The music here is so loud. I think I remember the song. It was my favorite at one point, wasn’t it? Hit ‘em up or something like that, by that hot girl with the tight booty jeans. Man, do I ever miss booty jeans. How long has it been since the world went to shit? Six months? A year? I don’t know, all I know is I’ve been working here for three months, picking up jobs as I need them. Not too different from what I did back when the world was sane, just with a different threat. Yeah, those were the days, I’d get a call, jump a plane, go to some 3rd world shit hole and steal the aid supplies and hand them off to the guys who “really” needed them, or at least paid to have them. Some people called them rebels, revolutionaries, whatever… I didn’t give a shit. We called them clients, and fuck did they pay well. I wasn’t the best at my job, but I knew how to stay alive. Good thing too, because that made me an asset to have on jobs.