So today wasn’t my day and tomorrow I might finally finish another novel; fifty-thousand words, while somebody else will write one sentence and the world will be all a “Twitter” won’t they, am I jealous? The Ease of Jealousy.
If God and whoever else wrote all they needed and said it why are they still talking our ears off; I’ve nearly finished fifty thousand words, and I know the ending is going to rush; what about a sequel… hah? Words Without End Amen
I wonder how long the works of Marquis de Sade were, and he wrote plenty more books than me along with them knowing publication regardless of content, I could work such infamy or just a good girl that wants to be naughty. Marquis De Sade, Works.
Dogs are man’s best friend, and you don’t keep your friends in cages do you, or bubble wrap, and there is a leash law but tell that to everyone else and bugs will be bugs sadly. It’s A Hairy Situation
What’s in a name Juliet once asked, well first you have to decide on one and terms of endearment run quite rampant and ooh baby, baby, while a classic can get a little old though I tend to put a spin on it. My Title Changed Hands.
I’ve never pictured myself making it to Heaven and anybody that ticks me off certainly ain’t that righteous because if you get your rocks off torturing someone like me… anyway another story. Going To Hell, Them First as it should be ha
With these two hands I will make me a world, but God took seven days, I think a month will do for me and how many authors did “The Bible” have again, though tonight I’m going to watch other people make a mess. Getting Your Hands Dirty.
Oops, I did it again, wasted my time, did my best instead of going out and maybe doing anything else that might honestly help me I mean any fool can write a book right. “Fools And Their Eh,” which I’d be lucky if I got that at all
I know one word I should write over and over, but that word isn’t polite in present company, though to be honest how many times does it appear in novel… that’s not getting published for real. A Write Man’s Job.
Let’s hear it for the boy because at least if I’m clapping, that’s one more thing my hands could be doing, besides writing, or waving them around like I “just don’t care” and at the moment I don’t. Calling In An Old-Fashioned