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Yep, got my new laptop a while ago. And Vista is odd and taxes my graphics card like the foul beast it is, but somehow I'm growing accustomed, that's right... *sings* I've gone accustomed to its faaaaace!
I'll shush now. *clears throat* Anyhow, I'm trying something new out. It's called, erm, writing. You know, for the sake of it. I mustn't grumble about how hard it is to turn thoughts into words or become neurotic about word count. Just... for the love of writing.
.
.
.
OMG, I need a drink. This shit is hard!
See, I'm one of those weirdos who thrive on deadlines and having restrictions on the content that's being churned out. Without structure, I tend to panic. But I'm trying my best.
September was the month I was supposed to have started a fiction writing class, but due to my inability to read a calendar, I missed registration. Never mind, I thought. I'll just read and learn from the masters. Ah, but Sal pointed out to me in an e-mail that I should get some practice via writing in a blog and here we are. No use reading Graham Greene when the closest thing I get to actually writing something of substance is during work. And the shite I tend to write - all soulless numbers and average premiums. Fie!
It's been such a long time since I've attempted this blogging thing; I'm surprised my thoughts are related this coherently into words. Here's hoping I get used to it soon.
Er, I just seemed to talk more about me. Okay, let's call this Day 0 and quit while I'm ahead. Tomorrow I plan to write up the film Croupier. Why? Cos it's got Clive Owen. That's why. And because he'll play Marlowe in a film adaptation. Be still my fangirl heart.
I'll shush now. *clears throat* Anyhow, I'm trying something new out. It's called, erm, writing. You know, for the sake of it. I mustn't grumble about how hard it is to turn thoughts into words or become neurotic about word count. Just... for the love of writing.
.
.
.
OMG, I need a drink. This shit is hard!
See, I'm one of those weirdos who thrive on deadlines and having restrictions on the content that's being churned out. Without structure, I tend to panic. But I'm trying my best.
September was the month I was supposed to have started a fiction writing class, but due to my inability to read a calendar, I missed registration. Never mind, I thought. I'll just read and learn from the masters. Ah, but Sal pointed out to me in an e-mail that I should get some practice via writing in a blog and here we are. No use reading Graham Greene when the closest thing I get to actually writing something of substance is during work. And the shite I tend to write - all soulless numbers and average premiums. Fie!
It's been such a long time since I've attempted this blogging thing; I'm surprised my thoughts are related this coherently into words. Here's hoping I get used to it soon.
Er, I just seemed to talk more about me. Okay, let's call this Day 0 and quit while I'm ahead. Tomorrow I plan to write up the film Croupier. Why? Cos it's got Clive Owen. That's why. And because he'll play Marlowe in a film adaptation. Be still my fangirl heart.
