That party awakened something in me. I’ve been writing almost every day and I haven’t thought about Justin at all—relatively speaking. I only think about him in the morning when I want to masturbate. Anyway...
I was thinking about my life here in New York and it made me want to put down Six (the novel I’m working on) and start writing a roman á clef. The only reason why I don’t want to write a memoir is because I know everyone is going to say I’m too young to have a compelling autobiography under my belt. Besides, I don’t think I have enough accomplishments (i.e. clout) to make someone want to read my memoir. Who wants to read about a nobody from the Midwest? Especially a nobody who moved to New York to become a writer. Talk about cliché.
The issue is, I hate leaving things unfinished. So, I’m rushing through Six and outlining the not-a-memoir when I’m not exhausted. Maybe the reason why it’s taken me so long to finish Six is because I didn’t have a fire under my butt. It’s the push I never knew I needed.
Well, that’s all for now Diary. I need to get back to work.