Let's try this again, shall we?
Before you go and enjoy your barbecue and pool (or sprinkler), let me just blabber for a bit.
Last summer, I was all: "I'm gonna be crazy and post like a mother!"
And then. I didn't.
Talk about a let-down. I let you down. I let me down. I let down down. Luckily, there's only one way to go now. So, I'm trying some balloons onto my house, I've grabbed my talking dog, and it's time to go up.
I've promised myself that this will be my comeback summer. My writing summer. My posting summer. My yoga summer. My summer summer.
You must understand, as a lad with GAD, I've become a creature of habit. Habit wins, spontaneity loses.
The fantastic dialogue.
The melodramatic, wordy, no-one-will-ever-talk-that-way dialogue.
The way soap opera characters talk -- it's amazing any of them are still in love or have friends. It also makes sense that they have so many enemies. If people talked like that in real life, well...
We'd all be Donald Trump.
I live on routine. Without my routine, sometimes I grab myself and rock back and forth.
I'm slapping routine in the face this summer. Hard. I'm going to leave a hand print.
There will be some routine, yes, but let's get one thing straight. That hand print will be a searing reminder that being a creative sloth is not on my seasonal menu this summer.
My goals? Yoga in the morning, daily revisions of my novel, and once that's done, my agent search begins. It's time to take this whole writing thing a bit more seriously. If two people in my life can land published novels, what's stopping me?
Hence the slap.
OK, now you can go and enjoy your barbecue.