Well, this isn't actually my desk, but honestly, it might as well be. The only good thing about it, is at least I know that my desk isn't overrun with silly little, "Don't forget your second-cousin's birthday next friday!" notes, or those wonderful and friendly, "If you do not pay the minimum balance by the eighth of this month, your car will be repossessed." reminders. Instead, all of those papers and little notes that seem to be hiding that there is, in fact, a desk in existence underneath that mountain of dead trees, contain something of much higher value. At least to me, anyway.They are my words, my thoughts. They are tiny bits that I've taken from the deepest part of whatever it is that makes me who I am (I guess that would be my soul, right?). You see, I'm waist-deep in writing a novel. I know, I know *coughwhatapredictablelosercough*. You would not believe how many times I see that reaction coming out of anyone that I talk to about my book. It seems these days that everyone is an aspiring J.R.R. Tolkein or J.K. Rowling, and truthfully, I cannot pretend to not be one of them. I do, indeed, dream about being a successful writer, but I also know the odds of it happening are as likely as finding a mermaid in your bathtub.
So, why bother at all? I entertain this dream of mine because I have to believe in that mermaid showing up in my bathtub. Otherwise, there's really no point in living, is there?
Now that I have decided to embark on this difficult journey, I know I must do it right. I came up with an original idea, so what's next? Having done research, I discovered that I can't start writing straightaway just because I have an idea. Without a clear, organized plot and plan as to the where's, who's, what's, and how's, my book may end up keeping my desk company rather than some interested reader on a rainy afternoon. And that, my fellow bloggers, is how my messy desk was born. A mixture of created religions, languages, races, and several maps that may or may not have last week's peanut-butter-and-jelly-sandwich stains on it.
Unhappily, the task at hand now is to organize it. Ugh, can't I just retreat to the blissful, darkness of sleep? No, no, I shall be productive. I will just march into my room, look that desk in the face and say, "Oh is that a new episode of House?"
I think I will leave it messy for now. It adds a cuteness factor to my character. The untidy, brilliant, red-head. Yes, I like the sound of that.
Note: I know you are probably clawing at your computer screen to see some excerpts of my manuscript. Fear not, oh desperate masses, I will post some soon :)
