Of Books and Time

I’m currently in the middle of a great book entitled Middlesex. I love reading, and this book fills that urgent need. What it also does is make me want to write again, which is something that I’ve wanted to do anyway, but the invisible hand of this book has pushed my face into the keyboard once again. What makes things difficult is that I do not have a story or any ideas what so ever as to what this book is to be about. I don’t want to just start writing without an outline like before. That was alright for small vignette type stories, but it won’t really work for a thought out piece. I’m not necessarily trying to write something that will change the world or anything like that, but I’d like to have a nice, coherent work that has a few different arcs that resolve nicely. The only problem with this idea is time.

I don’t really have the time to write anything; at least so I think. I’m sure that it’s not impossible. My last book took about ten months to write, even though it was a paltry 121 pages. That was more because I had to live through the experiences before I could write about them, but it still took a long time. It was a fun exerience, though, which is why I want to do it again.

And so ends a rather pointless entry.