Didn’t I say last week that my fictional story was practically writing itself? However, it still relies on my fingers and my eyes, and as the song goes, I’m so tired, so tired of trying. “Willie, You’re Writing Now”
Friday, July 24, 2020
Gospel 023 ~Willie, You’re Writing Now~
Hey Lady Sophia,
I AM a Billionaire right now on top of that. It is 2 AM on a Saturday morning, and we’re only now talking. If it’s any consolation, I’m ahead on Camp NaNoWriMo finally. I’m 8000 words away from the finish line. Now for the bad news, ready? The story is complete and utter garbage. I mean it, Lady Sophia. At this rate, it’s how people say, if you’re going through Hell, keep going. No promises, but at this rate, I’ll be done by Monday morning, then what?
Gearing up for a job I hate, with a book I can’t publish, and another title I was too lazy to finish. Why don’t you answer this? I want to know why it’s so much easier to go to bed at 4 AM instead of waking up. The Dæmon is driving me crazy, but it’s not his fault if his Dad can’t pick a proper bedtime. Hell, why can’t his Dad stop watching porn every five minutes looking up good ideas? It’s been about a month in a few more days of NO FAP. One more reason I need to sleep is I’m dreaming of ideas for the novel. I remembered something about the Sword of Damocles and the Seven Deadly Sins. Still, Lady Sophia, my latest chapter, doesn’t even have a name. And here’s the big thing, I have no clue how to end.
In my last story, I had a murder and suicide motif. I didn’t mean for this to show up, but a disease crept into the novel. Isn’t that exactly what my book needs. With orgies, gangbangs, and other mindless sexual activities, an STD? I wonder, are you hearing me clearer because I want to go to bed? Will I be changing my ways tomorrow or today? I’m living off of day-old pizza, but the pizza lady didn’t get me sick with COVID-19. I even went all out of my way in taking a shower. All that means is yet again I didn’t make any time for reading anything but my writing if you can call it that. I’m lying to Camp NaNoWriMo every night. I say I write 4600 words daily but end up finishing after midnight. Tonight was the worst because I owed 1400 words. I again tell you about Chapter 18, titled ahem “One, Two, Three, Four, Five.”
So, Willie, You’re Writing Now.
I Will Have No Fear