I’m a fellow writer. I write for fun, like a hobby of some sort. Lately this new year new me thing had me started with a new goal. I want to write a book.

How hard can it be? I smirk to my reflection in the mirror. I’ve read some bad books out there, and if they can publish, I can. Right? Wrong!

10,000 words later, my characters lash out.

“You need a more compelling goal for me!”

“Why would I do that?”

“You’re just staging this now.”

Okay teenager, pipe down.

In this process, I find out that writing a book is hard. Like as hard as trying to wake up and drive a stick shift from a hangover. So I have a little pep talk with my character.

“This doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

“We’re just gonna be on a break for a while.”

And when I see her rolling her eyes at me, I’m at a loss.

The whole day has been a grim one. This sucks. But I’m out of ideas. So long my story…maybe one day I will come back to you and we can second-chance it…