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18 July 1999
from Read and Die, Nbook #7

I wish I knew someone who shared my love for writing, someone who understood the need for time to write. Obviously my mom isn't that person. She's like, "What notebook?" whenever I tell her I need to write my notebook entry. I mean, she should know. She's my mom. Moms know that kind of stuff. Besides, I've been writing in notebooks like this one since last September. September seventh, nineteen ninety-eight, to be exact. That's nearly a whole year. She knows I want to write children's books someday. Besides, all writers keep notebooks in case they come up with a really good idea for a book. Doesn't she know that? I guess she doesn't. She also said that writers don't make much money. I don't think this is true. I mean, I've seen pictures of authors in the book after the story and they don't look like they live in poverty.
**
This just...amuses me. The family still doesn't completely understand, but at least they accept it more. I found this when I was fact-checking my literary autobiography. It's almost finished; I'm just typing it out now and got sidetracked along the way.

(cross-posted to history_of_me)

Comments

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sushimustwrite
Aug. 17th, 2006 11:02 pm (UTC)
I did at the time; now I still want to write, but I'm bouncing between genres. But you want to work at a publisher/magazine? This is a small world indeed.
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