If I wasn’t a writer, what would I be?

I had a weird dream last night… as is typical with all my dreams, but I digress. I dreamt that I was a writer, traditionally published and successful and famous beyond my wildest dreams. Then along came a witch, and for some unknown reason she cursed me, sent me back to my childhood, took away that one moment that turned me into a writer.

My alarm went off then, and I didn’t know what had become of my dream self, but the mere idea of leading a life without books and writing kinda freaked me out. I have been a bibliophile for as long as I remember, and it never occurred to me that I could’ve been thrown into a reality where I wasn’t. I suppose I’ve been fortunate enough to have parents who liked to read, who took me to book fairs and allowed me to buy the books I wanted. If our circumstances had been different, if they were uneducated or poor, then I might have never learned to embrace books. I would have never considered seeing what my own words would look like on paper.

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NaNoWriMo in 3.. 2.. 1!

It’s almost time for the most anticipated writing event. Midnight is less than 20 minutes away for me, and I’m getting a liiiitle bit antsy here. I’ve done everything I need to do, finished all my chores, drank my coffee, got my chocolate ready, got my blank Word document open, my fingers poised, thinking about my first line… waitaminute. Do I have a first line? Oh god I do NOT have a first line.

I suppose that’s what I get for being a pantser. Unlike many people I know, I’ve done very little planning. This is not out of laziness or procrastination on my part; I simply can’t write according to a definite plan, and I can’t plot in advance because I end up feeling bored with the story before even write it. I just have my title (Penny For Your Dreams), my basic plot, my main character… ack, I just realised my main character doesn’t have a last name yet. Okay, so I may be a little under-prepared, haha. Continue reading

Dear Brain, Please Shut up. Sincerely, One with too little time.

Not too long ago, I remember worrying that at one point I’m going to run out of ideas and I’ll run around like a chicken with its head cut off in an attempt to figure out something to write. At that time I was working on just two novels (one that was on hiatus until I could figure out what to do with the main characters, and the other I was struggling to hold it at the seams), and I thought, “Oh god, is this it? After I finish writing these two stories, will I have nothing to write?”

Thankfully I didn’t have to worry about that for long. In fact, I started worrying about having too many ideas.

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