I’ve decided that I am writing a book.
Or at least that is what I’m trying.
Maybe it would be more correct to say,
I’m just keeping myself from crying.
But maybe I just need words to come out,
Instead of writing, I’ll try a recorder.
Then afterward I can begin to worry,
About the words and about the order.
I dream of a character, who’s funny and deep,
And all my readers truly adore him.
But for now, my only wish is this:
To not kill my readers through boredom.
And the hope that keeps me going is really quite simple.
The second book will be easier, oh, please God will it
Laura Wessels had worked on her book for eight years now. Eight long years. She had seven pages.
It just always seemed like there was so much to do, and her writing was never prioritized. There was always work, or her husband, or her children, and so her computer slowly collected dust. Even when she tried there was just so much noise. Screaming, complaining, laughter, music. It was impossible to concentrate when the outer world was screaming for you to come back.
So when she heard about the Writer’s Retreat it seemed perfect. A quiet place, where phones were forbidden, and she could write in peace. In theory is seemed quite simple. A hotel, where you could either stay for free or give a little in support, without Wi-Fi or television. Anything really, which could distract you. It sounded perfect. Exactly what she needed.
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