I have been writing.

No really, I mean really writing. As in fiction. As in, a story. I started writing it ages ago, when I still lived in the apartment. I remember starting it actually. I grabbed a notebook, and sat out side by the pool. There was no one swimming because it was a windy day. I hand wrote about 10 pages. The next day, I did the same thing. The day after that, I only wrote five. And then I put it away.

This story that I’m writing is crap. I suppose it will be good one day, but at the minute, it’s crap. The main character (a high school senior) is telling me the story from her point of view, but she keeps leaving out the important things. She wants to tell me the mundane, and I want to know the reason behind everything.

I don’t really mind this crap first draft. She’s telling me her version of events, and how she things and feels and acts. If I’m lucky, I’ll get the major love interest to tell me his side of the story (not that it’s a love story), because he’s as untalkative as they come. He is so obviously in love with her, but he doesn’t say a word, and when he does, it’s any utter surprise.

Did you know characters could take over like this? When I started writing, I started with a vague notion of high school. I didn’t know I’d get this sullen girl who can’t see what’s right in front of her. Some times I want to inject myself into the story, to tell her to wake up and see him already. But I think she will on her own, in time.

I just wish she’d finish telling me this scene. She keeps crying, and it goes on and on. I mean, I think I know why she’s crying, but I’ve been working on this scene for a week now, and she tells it to me so slowly.

If I ever finish it, I might let someone read it. But, probably not. Not until the second draft, when I can tell the story myself. This first-person-present-tense isn’t helping me any. It speeds the story down, which she needs so that she can tell it to me, but I want to rush things along.

Can you tell I’m not a very patient person when it comes to writing? We’ll see how it goes, I suppose. Until I get seduced away by another story.

- “The Only Difference Between Martyrdom And Suicide Is Press Coverage,” A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out: Panic! At the Disco