ARGH! And other such rantings.

Come on. He's adorable.

Who said writing a book was easy?

Oh. No one. 

I can't disagree with no one.

The fact is, it's bloody hard. Damn near impossible, it's looking like. The laughable cliche of screwed up paper, red eyes from tears of frustration and a permanent look of defeated bemusement on your face is no longer a cliche to me.

It's a reality.

AND I HAVEN'T EVEN GOT WRITER'S BLOCK YET.

..You have to write to get writer's block. I haven't written a bean.

See I've had this idea. It's been brewing in my head for some months now. In my brain it's brilliant, it's inspired, it's GENIUS.

But the genius idea is being stubborn and refusing to nosedive out of my imagination and onto the paper.

At this very moment in time, this is me:

Only less Japanese.

It's not like I'm looking to write the world's next bestseller. I know I don't have the intellect, time, patience and evident insanity of some writers. I won't be as big as Rowling, Koontz, Oates or Shaw. I don't want to be. I don't want the fame, money, houses, sex and screaming, devoted fans.

Hang on. That all sounds pretty good.

NO.

I just want to write a bloody book. I want to sail through it, all smiles and light bulb moments. Writing should be a pleasurable experience.

HA.

We've heard of starving artists. So overwhelmed by their own brilliance, sacrificing food for pots of industrial paint. Rib cages, stubble, worn out jeans and rainbow paint thrown with crippling angst onto a cheap canvas.

How romantic.

Now I'm daydreaming. Great.

Several minutes later...

It's back to the drawing board. (Never understood that phrase.)

Back to pulling out my hair, resisting the urge to repeatedly headbutt the computer screen whilst screaming WHY ME??!! more like.

Oh, I am dramatic.