I hate the story I am writing. Working again on the one where I kill the little girl. Sajan.
I am up for workshop in two weeks, so I turn in my story next week. I started this piece last semester, and then I stopped all together – nowhere even near being finished, in a barely-begun state. Dropped it like a piece of trash. Swept it away like lint off my shirt, or more likely, dog hairs. But you can’t get rid of dog hairs, no matter how many times you use a lint roller. At least I sure can't. I guess this story has been affixed to my brain ever since I started it. JUST WRITE THE DAMN THING. JUST WRITE IT. JUST LET YOURSELF FINISH.
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