Dear fellow writers,
You know when you get to that point in an essay where you've just elaborated so much on a point that you can't stop? Or maybe when you are writing in your journal you describe your day in such great detail you only make it to lunch before your exhausted? More obvious than that perhaps, when you are telling a story to your friends and they really don't care about the context, but you can't help explaining it anyways?
That basically sums up why I haven't been posting: there is this need, ridiculous as it is, to correctly fill you in. Yes, this is the Internet and obviously I'm not going to mention names, addresses or credit card numbers. Yet reader, I feel as though we have created this bond, and you deserve to understand the circumstances in which these posts are written.
It must be the Holiday Season that's making me so sappy. Ugh.
Even now, I'm catching myself erasing and re-writing to make each sentence more precise. Is there an end to this?
No. I probably will always write twelve page essays. I will most likely never be able to keep an accurate account of my life in a journal (however that sounds a bit narcissistic anyways).
But maybe that's okay.
Books are long aren't they? They take years to write, you can always edit and re-edit. Isn't a novelist a failed short story writer anyways?
Maybe there's hope for me then, and for all you excessive describers out there as well. We just have to write the next Harry Potter book.
Ha ha, hope.
Keeping life Short and Simple,
Arctic Hipster
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