I’m always “in progress” with writing my book, but everything I experience becomes something I want to incorporate.
it’s going to be thicker than moby dick and more random than a thriller/children’s book crossover would be… if it’s ever finished.
but maybe that’s how it should be. because i’m that random myself and if i can’t spill my guts out and put everything out there in this book then what’s the point?
i’m beginning to see, as i get older that if one can’t spill their guts and put everything out there period what’s the point?
sometimes i think i’m in a constant state of being in an existential crisis.