Dear Diary

Dear Diary:
I think this story is crap.

Dear Diary:
Madame Lash says it doesn't matter if the story is crap at this stage or not. You have crap, you can fix it. You don't have crap, there's nothing to fix. Write the pages!

Dear Diary:
How many cans of Pepsi Max equal one novella and a set of revisions on a full novel?

Dear Diary:
Why can't a GP in Australia remove three bits that need to be removed, all at once?

Dear Diary:
Yes, I made the appointment to go back and have the rest taken care of. Hmph.

Dear Diary:
My arm hurts and I think I've created a monster because I always used to have to write in complete silence, but then they started on the renovations next door (I don't mind, really, I'm a great, tolerant, understanding neighbour and it isn't even an issue that it's going to take months and months and months before it's done).

I've created a monster because in desperation I blasted music to drown out the renovation noise, (and really, I don't mind it at all, honest) and now I can't seem to write without music blasting.

Dear Diary:
How many times can you play Eric Clapton in one day without other members of the household feeling the need to leap out a window?

Dear Diary:
Do you think I'm procrastinating? Because honestly, my arm hurts and I really think this draft is crap today, and I have errands to run on the way to work and how much point is there writing another page of crap before I go?

Dear Author
Write the damn pages and stop whining. There's a reason you have a picture of me up above your computer.

Dear World:
I think Madame Lash has possessed my Diary.

Uh, I think I will get back to writing now.

Jennie