First, I just want to stop and say that I have no idea how April snuck up on me and bit me on the ass. I feel like it was just January three days ago but, apparently not, right? Now, I’m sitting here at work typing away like a madman and trying to figure out why and how I signed up for this, and if I really know what I’ve gotten myself into because 50,000 words is a lot to write in 30-days.
No, 50,000 words is a lot to write period. Especially when you’ve been on a writing hiatus because you’re a depressed little blob that hates sunlight, and people, and words. I’ve barely even been reading lately, despite my inherent addiction for buying books that I know that I want to read, and then depression just laughs at me and says no. Depression, if you didn’t already know, is an asshole.
But I still want to try because this is important to me. It’s important that I try to write, and if I’m lucky, get some writing done because for as long as I could remember I wanted to be an artist. At the time however, I didn’t know that writing was art, and that it can make you feel just as fiercely and deeply as any beautiful painting. And if I don’t keep telling myself that, I’ll give up, and I know it.
Back to the words.
-Sky
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