Until you spread your wings, you'll never know how far you can walk

Curse it. I feel like writing another murder mystery. Again. Not as a party, but as a novel.

Everyone, all at once now, "Ha. Ha."

It's just that I got all these ideas in my head and if it's not for my complete lack of literary skill I would probably start writing. Short stories. Novels. Something.

It's not so much that I can't write. It's more to do with the fact that I'm so extremely careless that sometimes what I write just don't make sense. Like how I mixed up words in my head. It's not even conscious. It's like my hand has a mind of its own or something. Maybe that's what
automatic writing is about.

Maybe I'm a psychic.

There's also the fact that I don't really have much of an attention span. Not to mention that I'm interested in almost everything. Recently with the painting and all (AND actually get pretty good review from people), and I want to move onto jewellery making. And now there's the writing another murder thingy.

I wonder when, if ever, I'll start being interested in my thesis.