I’ve decided to quit talking about writing and just do it. Maybe I can get these crazy stories out of my head by putting them on paper. Well, not paper, but you get my point.
For instance, a few months ago I was out for a walk on a lonely dirt road when the same car drove back and forth past me four times. It was an old Ford LTD. It was creepy. My wicked imagination proceeded to concoct a story about a woman finding a severed body part in a ditch while walking alongside a deserted road. Then, the killer finds the finder and tries to stop the finder from reporting the find.
45,000 words later, I am thrilled to still be writing this thriller. This killer thriller.
To what end, I do not know.