Cleaned my room. Encountered some big spiders. Survived.
Scribbled some stuff for my original story: Real. A short preview:
He sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against his dilapidated sofa, scribbling a best-seller novel down on the backs of unopened bills with a blunt pencil. He smoked a long, thin herbal cigarette.
Also wrote some more of 'Motel Cabbage'. I've got some form of plot, now, and I've been writing scenes for later that popped into my head. It's gonna get weird.
|The beautiful, inspirational Jeff Buckley. This picture hugely inspired 'Real'.|