A Complaint, Punctuated By Optimism

Pity the writers. It's not all pretty paragraphs; it's gasps and groans, it's days spent holding up an antennae trying to get a signal from Mount Olympus. It's thinking you've hit on a way to get the words to come and having it turn out not to work every time you try it. It's that indescribable pang that sends you reeling when you hear about people younger than you getting published.

But here's the good thing about being a writer: you're allowed to talk to yourself as long as you type everything you say. Which means you can provide yourself with a bit of comfort. Which is why I'm sitting here writing a blog post.

All while my sisters beg for the computer to watch a TV show on one end and the characters I'm supposed to be writing about lodge complaints on the other.