Wow. I am so whiny on here. I really only feel the need to vent when I am depressed or wallowing in pain.
I’ve been writing a lot lately and that seems to help. I love writing fiction. It is so much fun to create your own world and make lives for these characters that feel real.
Right now, I’m house sitting for my stepdad’s friend. That means I’m sitting on the couch, watching romcoms, doing homework, and writing my stories. One is about a 17 year old girl spending a week in northern Washington and falling in love with a 23 year old (sound familiar?) and the other is a girl who falls in love with her best friend’s step brother.
I come up with these plots when I have dreams about them. I think I have the original ideas for them written down somewhere…obviously I’ve changed the ideas from the initial dream because dreams are some messed up stuff, with random scene jumps and fuzzy rationales.
The step brother one was based on a dream I had at a water park where he refused to let me change alone. Meaning I was self conscious and he wanted to console me so I would still hang out with them. Though that is how the dream started and ended, I won’t include this part until late in my writing because it wouldn’t make sense to jump in there without introduction of characters.
Anyways, I’m really passionate about that right now. I think I’m pretty okay at writing and I love the idea that someone else could love it and relate to it like I do.