I'm sitting at the library this morning, while my loving husband is at home watching our little one, working on my newest literary attempt. I have an amazing family that supports my dream, and I feel so lucky for that. The problem I’m finding lately is the itch to write is so prominently bugging me that I can’t type the words (or write them in my notebook) fast enough.
Wouldn't it be nice to be able to download the content of your mind to a fully formatted word document, so all you had to do was edit? (And not to mention hide the few embarrassing things that surfaced on accident.) But on the other hand, wouldn't that create a mindless version of books that resembles reality television?
That’s enough of my wishing and contemplating for this morning. I'll be the neurotic girl in the corner typing away like a maniac with a cup of Chai wasting away until it resembles muddy water.
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