oh i've blogged before, and it's never really bothered me whether i'm 'read' or not. i just like the way the words look onscreen. and anyone who knows me can attest to the fact that i can ramble on for ages at the slightest provocation. see, i was an only child for five years and used to talk to myself a fair bit (and if you're to believe The Flatmate, i still do it.. but more on that specimen of nature later) so rattling away comes easily. the thing is knowing when to stop (which i appear to be doing an exceptional job at).
right, to sound more writerly (go away squiggly red line, i'm deeming that a word) i'm going to throw in a word count for today. oooh, i think i ought to do that everyday. might help with motivation and all that hoo-ha. i tried doing that once, and ended up with a confusing heap of coloured post-its with random numbers scrawled on them. they looked so pretty though, so i ended up sticking them on my wall to brighten up my room. i also ended up confusing myself with one rather lovely scottish bloke who used to live in a hatch on an island that no one knew existed. I'll see you in another life, brother.
but where was i? word count, yes. well, i appear to have written the grand total of 1152 words today. not a lot considering the fact that it's all i've been doing, but i sort of started on something new (she says mysteriously) and i can't seem to figure out what genre it is. wait, scratch that. it isn't my fault. the dratted thing can't seem to decide whether it's dark comedy or vaguely children's fiction-ish. i don't know, kids seem to read a lot of crap these days. it could swing either way.
aww, i now have a sudden urge to read heaps of enid blyton. hello amazon, here i come. oooh or the lovely old shop down the road that has first editions and secondhand books from the 50's and 60's. dammit, i wish i had some money.