Gosh, I'm a rubbish writer when I'm happy. I always say that. I can't write when I'm caught up in my own lovely life with a grin on my face and a spring in my step. But instead, it's when I'm at my lowest that I manage to do some of my most heartfelt writing. Weird, and kind of awkward too.
Hence my dilemma. I've just noticed my blog count for 2014. At the minute it's 105 posts short of 2013's. Fair enough, last year was my first year of blogging, but still. This year's is a poor effort, and for funny, happy reasons.
I've found myself too preoccupied with the good things in my life to stop for breath and time to type something up. Okay. It's 23:56 on Wednesday 29th October. As part of my CWP for uni, I intend to smash last year's blog count. 105 to go to level it. Ish. Some more to out-do it. In under two months.
Let's do this. I'll write everything. This is my blog. And it's what I'm supposed to do. Especially if I'm going to be a writer someday.