As I was drivng home tonight, the thoughts I had my sophomore, junior year of college came back. I thought of many ways to kill myself in my car– hitting a curb to flip over, running into a light pole, or veering off into a ditch– but as I rounded the corner of CE King and the Shell gas station, I saw a man in a black hoodie hugging his knees to his chest. After seeing that, my mind and thoughts became focused and centered on him and why he was at that corner in fifty something degree weather hugging his knees to his chest. I don’t know why that image of him stuck itself in my head but now all I can think of is writing a story to fit that image of him.
SIDENOTE: Writing is what I live for and there are no expectations or pressures of being perfect. Writing for me is like smoking; suck in all the negative and positive shit and breath out everything to the wind and repeat.