Somewhere around my 3rd beverage of the day I decided that I want to write a book. I have no damn idea what this book will be about or if it will, in fact, have any actual words printed in it.
After quitting my last job where I was fortunate enough to have had a weekly column for nearly 4.5 years, my wife helped me compile 52 of said columns into a roughly book-like shape that I then handed out to family and managed to sell to a few drug addled raccoons and one chipmunk.
Wildlife dig my style.
Other than that my only writing outlet has been the articles and reviews I’ve done for blogcritics.org. As fun as those have been for some reason (could be the caffeine talking here) I want more.
Even if nobody else reads it, whatever it turns out to be, I still want to write it. It’s not going to very good and it’s not going to be well-written, but who cares?
I still want it to happen. At least I think I do which is why I’m pretty sure that this soda has made me delusional.