Most writers read another book. Listen to music. Watch a movie. Rest their eyes. And I usually play Crazy Taxi on Facebook. But I did something stupid today, I started to write another freaking story. And it isn't even that great, because no one can read it. Except maybe Alex and my mother. So I got a chapter down, and I could probably write another tonight, but I don't want to start it and have to finish it tomorrow.
SO, yeah, I don't know why I shared. Maybe because no one will be able to read it unless I get it published.
"A friend once told me, “I bet I will publish a book before you do.” And although I agreed I argued, “Sure, but mine will be more successful than yours.” The debate continued. Maybe she was right, her book would be fact, and mine would no doubt be fiction. And as Alex would put it, “People rather read about something that has, or is, really happened.” For all I knew, she could be right. So I could ditch the fictional story I have been working on for the past six months, and put it on the back burner. Perhaps it was time to forget all the hard to get girls, and strong, strangely attractive guys. It was time to write about something I have experienced, and know about."
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