I'm pretty sure that I could write anything in this blog and no one will ever notice. I used to be scared of people noticing. Now I'm scared that they never will.
The apple pie I am eating is delicious.
I wish I understood things from the perspective of agents and authors. Maybe then I would understand why none of them like my story so far. Why do they choose to publish the people they do?
When I went downstairs to warm up my pie, the dog wagged his tail and warmed my heart.
Am I really that awful? Trying to be good enough reminds me of being back in high school and trying to be good enough to be accepted by my peers and all my attempts at it failing.
I also had to take an advil because my face is throbbing, throbbing.
I wish life was a musical and that I could break into a song as good as the ones in Dr. Horrible's sing a long blog. It's one of the few movie(s?) that I'll watch over and over again.
I got interviewed once, guest blogged. I have a twitter and my own blog that I update anyway, but none of it matters in the end so far.
"A maaaaaaaaan's got to do what a maaaaaaaaaaaaaan's got to do."
I have insomnia and I hate it.
I worked two years on my manuscript and rewrote both my synopsis and query a hundred times, but yet again, it doesn't matter.
"It's a brand new day and the sun is high. All the birds are singing that you're gonna die."