Random Thoughts on Writing

• It's warm here. Finally.
• The trees are in full bloom.
• I can set to rest the fear I have that winter will never end and everything will be gray and ugly forever.
• There's a fine layer of dusty pollen on my kitchen counters, the results of leaving the windows open all night and day.
• I left it there and escaped to the library, where I am now.
• The library is quiet except for the occasional, thunderous throat-clearing of another patron.
• It happens every 25 seconds or so.
• Good thing I brought my headphones.
• I'm at the library to write.
• Specifically, I'm here to work on my novel.
• Writing the word novel makes my stomach churn.
• Lack of confidence, I suppose.
• I am ignoring my lack of confidence and spending every Tuesday night writing.
• (There goes the throat-clearing again.)
• Writing a novel is a strange experience so far.
• It feels a bit sometimes like I'm playing God with lives of people I've created.
• I have no desire to play God.
• I'm trying, instead, to be a storyteller.
• The messenger.
• Relating the story as it unfolds.
• That makes me feel less weirded out.
• Because, let's face it, the world would be a scary place if I were God.
• French fries and milkshakes would make you thin.
• Money and clothes would literally grow on trees.
• People would never die.
• And every night the crickets and frogs would croon indie-folk music to sing us all to sleep.
• It would never work, of course.
• We'd be overpopulated in, like, five minutes.
• And civil wars would break out before I have time to realize that some people don't enjoy singer/songwriters as much as I do.
• Which is why I'll stick to storytelling.
• Throat-clearers and lack of confidence be damned!
• (Which, of course, I don't have the authority to do.)
• Over and out.