First Entry
Posted 10-06-2012 at 07:35 PM by DarlingGirl
Well, as I'm inclined to write tonight, I guess I'll grace you all with my somewhat unorthodox, sometimes cliched writing style.
I've always wanted to be an author, but it's rare for me to be able to think out a plot line further than the first half of a book. Sad really, because occasionally I've come up with ideas that might actually make it to the press.
I'm also a humongous time-waster (look at what I'm doing right now)! I prefer to loaf, occasionally binging on gardening or metal detecting. I also enjoy curb-diving tremendously. But none of these things will ever bring me the life of my dreams:
Ah, that little house in the Catskills, so dreamily set between two rolling hills, forest behind, a little lake on the side, perhaps a babbling brook running through, cats and dog and geese running around in the yard, an apple orchard on the side, a garden full of veggies and a large porch from which to watch the sun set or the thunderstorms roll through.
But unless I write that book, get famous, or stumble upon some relative that has oh, a few million left for me, I'll never get there.
Yes, I'm still looking positively at the whole situation. One day, something will happen that is totally unexpected; something wonderful. Until then it'll be horrors, work, and the usually downright misery of life.
Do I care? I'm so passive that I can say for sure, no. I'm like the Hippy on the side of the road, thumbing for a ride. Where I'm going, I don't know. But I am damn well sure I'm going to try to have a good time getting there.
I've always wanted to be an author, but it's rare for me to be able to think out a plot line further than the first half of a book. Sad really, because occasionally I've come up with ideas that might actually make it to the press.
I'm also a humongous time-waster (look at what I'm doing right now)! I prefer to loaf, occasionally binging on gardening or metal detecting. I also enjoy curb-diving tremendously. But none of these things will ever bring me the life of my dreams:
Ah, that little house in the Catskills, so dreamily set between two rolling hills, forest behind, a little lake on the side, perhaps a babbling brook running through, cats and dog and geese running around in the yard, an apple orchard on the side, a garden full of veggies and a large porch from which to watch the sun set or the thunderstorms roll through.
But unless I write that book, get famous, or stumble upon some relative that has oh, a few million left for me, I'll never get there.
Yes, I'm still looking positively at the whole situation. One day, something will happen that is totally unexpected; something wonderful. Until then it'll be horrors, work, and the usually downright misery of life.
Do I care? I'm so passive that I can say for sure, no. I'm like the Hippy on the side of the road, thumbing for a ride. Where I'm going, I don't know. But I am damn well sure I'm going to try to have a good time getting there.
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