Monday, 16 March 2009

A Day Early

I think I must have some sort of disease. There is the desire to write in me, but when I put my fingers to the keyboard, or my pen to my journal, nothing comes out but a few pretty lines. Pretty lines which mean nothing... well, they mean nothing.

I am frustrated with myself. This novel was supposed to be the one that I would see through, the one that I would pour my heart and soul into, and it would show. This was supposed to be my achievement. But I can't do anything right. The other day, when i was cleaning my room, I found my first draft mangled and bent among some shoes. What does that say about me?

I am in need of inspiration. I will endeavour to find some, but I don't think I will find it here.

Please take a look at the work of my good friend, Austen, who I have asked to help me with cover art. He's a busy boy, so I don't know if he has done any yet, but his work is really spectacular and I want more people to see how good his attention to detail is.



1 comment:

  1. Your friend looks like a hotty.
    Ehehe, it's my boyfriend :D
    If it helps, everything I write at the moment is shit.
    I wrote something for one of Austens paintings the other day (in my blog, as usual) and I think he hates it :(


Leave a comment