I’m not entirely (read: at all) sure why I decided to write a book. I’m lazy, I don’t follow through with things, and I’m a bit scared of commitment. And so much dang thinking will be involved! So much effort! Wow, I’ve already halfway talked myself out of this. Cool, I’ll just go eat some cookie dough instead and catch up on Words with Friends.
No really, perhaps that’s exactly why I should write a book. Or try to, at least. It probably shouldn’t even come as remotely a surprise anyway. After all, talking about myself and my mundane, yet quirky little life is one of my all-time favorite activities. And if I can do this, get my fantabulous ideas down in black and white, they’ll be perfectly preserved for the countless generations to come who will undoubtedly be enamored by every fascinating kernel of my glorious life.
So now the million dollar question is: how in Hades am I going to write a book?! In school, we were always taught to start each essay with an outline. Yeah, not doing that. Much like my housekeeping, I’m gonna just cut corners anywhere I can. So I plan to just rattle on as I fit about this, that, and the other. Hopefully by the end, there will be one or two golden nuggets worth keeping. If not…yeah, okay, I don’t have an if not. I’ll work on that.
So read what you want, skip anything snooze-worthy, and point and laugh at me whenever you get the chance.