A busy life.
The signs manifest in a series of events to which you’re not given enough time to react.
My thoughts are elsewhere.
I’ve been embellishing my protagonist’s sex life, for it’s time to concentrate on the whole concept of desire. Where does it come from, and where do you want it to go?
What’s hilarious is that she’s dominant – a massive control freak who only values her own satisfaction. I don’t, so don’t even think that she’s based on me. I guess my motto would be, “Satisfy as much as possible.”
Maybe it’s unusual for a girl to say that.
All these guys that I want are looking for everything that I’m not. I can’t impress that one guy with my words, and I can’t impress the other one with my poor picking and strumming skills on string instruments. Maybe I’m too hard on myself, and we’re not meant for each other. One usually feels it right away. Well, you can’t help yourself sometimes from immersing in this creative journey.
However, I believe that this certain spark only exists in the air, in some frequency. You hear it in a song or a voice. It talks to you and dispels all uncertainty, except that it leaves you longing. Or maybe songs are false promises in disguise.
I no longer enjoy telling friends and acquaintances about my life; that same old story–it feels obsolete, unlike talking to someone new, which gives me a chance of reinventing myself in a much brighter way. I’d like them to focus on that, but that undermines my own belief in who I really am. I figured (again) that it’d be best to shut up. It has taken me all my life to realize that all my inner faculties are nobody’s business.
What I love and what I hate is nobody’s business. For instance, I have to hide how much I love this year’s summer with its fluctuating temperatures, cool breeze and fresh smell after the rain. I hate how everyone’s complaining. To me, it’s like autumn, and it’s beautiful.
If I can’t be honest with you, then let me be – with myself.
I had a dream in which I ran through the rain in an unknown town, first unable to distinguish that from reality. And then I almost stepped into a big puddle. Sometimes before hypnagogia, I try not to slip on the slippery ground. And when I do, a hypnic jerk wakes me so that I know I’m only simulating a fall in my bed.
I found myself searching through an unknown house in another dream, unsure of what I was looking for, but I was scared. And eventually, I ran into the arms of my sister, and a sense of familiarity unbound itself.
I have discovered a new sound that I sometimes need for writing; it’s the sound of silence – never would I have thought that emptiness could turn into a shield of protection. Now I’ve finally realized that it’s possible to take in the sound of society without worrying about whether or not I fit in. The truth is it doesn’t matter.
This town takes everything and everyone for granted; a lot of opportunists and sycophants out and about. If this is how you get around, then I don’t want to be here.
When Ted Baker had me participating in their writing task, I was surprised, and I was happy because someone out of 30 paid my CV some attention. I was wondering what it would be like writing for fashion. Writing based on clothes could help me step into my protagonist’s Prada shoes. Maybe I could learn what it feels like.
But I didn’t pass the writing task. My writing was probably not funny enough. Too dark? Too sexual? I didn’t use the term ‘nymphet’ to describe little girls’ underwear, which I’m sure would have been scandalous. But today’s youth is full of Nabokovian girls. You get ten-year-olds bragging about their first French kiss. Disgusting.
I wonder what got that Ted Baker associate interested in me in the first place. I have offered multimedia and SEO agencies writing samples, but only because they were asking. Writing for media always involves topics that are beyond your field of interest.
Writing is supposed to educate your reader or put a smile on their faces. Most writing is all about sales and marketing.
Why do marketing and advertising have to be so fucking manipulative?
Anyway, who to write for? – Someone who has a dirty mind.