This summer, I am going to write a book.
Damn! I just saw it in bold letters and I got scared.
I’m mostly a start-and-never-finish type person. Every NaNoWriMo attempt ends in a 50,000-word medley with no real conclusion. This summer I’m writing a book. There, I said it again. This just got serious. I am going to write a book. Now it’s a mantra. I feel like if I put the occasional update on my blog, and if there’s a person or two out there who reads it, I’ll feel more motivated. So I’m saying it now, just so you’re all prepared for the onslaught of late-night incoherency and blabbering about plot holes. (They’ll be the death of me, I swear.)
P.S. Have you ever noticed that when I don’t have a good story, I tack on a P.S. and throw out something quick and shocking? By the way, when I was little my neighbor’s dog devoured a 64-pack of Crayola crayons and then crapped out a veritable rainbow of poo. Just thought that would interest you.