I wish I could carry a camera all the time. I had a digital but for some reason it just stopped working and even my dad can’t fix it. There’s a bunch of colored daisies that have dried on the shelf of the Atlas study row. A heart that someone scraped on the desk with some kind of grime. Just a bunch of untold stories. Speaking of which…
I love stories. Some science fiction. A little fantasy. An occasional dose of the real world. But more than anything else, I love stories about what could have happened – stories of “if only” and “maybe”. Stories with a little uncertainty and a little unhappiness.
I miss writing so much. I’ve run out of time and inspiration. Inspiration is the key thing though – if I have enough of that, I write until my fingers ache.
It’s ridiculous to think about writing as a career though.
I still can’t help it.