I'm writing. I'm really writing. It's something I've been wanting, meaning, to do for years, and now I'm doing it. I'm making myself sit down and write. Stuff. Maybe stuff that'll turn into a book, maybe not. But I'm happy to just start with Stuff. Wierd that I don't count this blog as writing, isn't it? I must've written thousands of words by now. Is there a way of counting?
Waffling here. I can see the light at the end of the Thirty Days of Hope tunnel. It's nearly done. I've enjoyed it, I've hated it, it's been therapeutic. It's made me shed some things, or just face them head on, leaving space in my head, to write that Stuff. This is the best thing.
World Penguin Day
1 day ago