The Making of : A Tale of Very Truthful Woe…Part 1
Day 1 of writing very true woeful story of horrible dark life
Technically I should be working right now, but there really is nothing to do at this office. I’ve already ordered breakfast and drank lukewarm coffee even though I don’t even like coffee. It doesn’t really matter where I work or what the office looks like so I won’t get into heavy long descriptions and say things like ‘ the mahogany tables gleamed as I ran my hands over superior wood surface and whilst all this admiration was taking place, I also had time to notice the fine workmanship that had resulted in a most delicate yet sturdy classical Gothic inspired design. Whoever created this masterpiece which really is just a bloody brown desk must have been a genius and hence I will dedicate at least 7 paragraphs as testament to his carpentry prowess.’
I will then weep as it’s only 1 pm. The day stretches ahead like a barren desert.
Alas, sitting creepily alone in a darkened office is hardly subtle.
note: hell’s gate-keeper might be a strong choice of words
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Day 2 of writing very true woeful story of horrible dark life
This book would be so much easier to write if it would stop critiquing me as I attempt to write. Every word is open to a long winded analysis. By the time I’m on the 7th word, death starts to seem appealing. Well theoretically at least. My word, it’s just mind numbing when the audience in my head is heckling me as I attempt to write anything.
I don’t really know what direction I should take with this book but I can already see it on the bestseller’s list. Maybe I should start writing three books at the same time, and hope for the best. On a completely different side note, this desk really is quite shiny and incredibly smooth. I wonder what polish the cleaners use to achieve such sheen? I’ll be sure to inquire about that.
Day 3 of writing very true woeful story of horrible dark life
I think I finally realize what my problem is. I need to cultivate a stronger persona. I need to actively work on finding a personal struggle and overcome it. People seem really like books about beating the odds. The inspiration that has been lost because my parents never beat me and hid the evidence in the cellar(alongside my nearly dead body that is miraculously revived so that I can write my tale.) Also, where is an addiction when you need one? I wonder what kind of protocol is needed to submit myself to a rehab clinic?
note: dimensions may not have been accurately represented by artist
No one I know has succumbed to anything tragic that has greatly affected me. It’s really quite selfish when I think about it. How am I supposed to derive inspiration from this vanilla group of people I surround myself with?! How on earth did my parents ever expect me to make something of myself in these dire circumstances of bleak normalcy. Why wasn’t I born in a potato farm that had NO potatoes, with a stern ogre for a father that ripped me straight out of my mother’s womb and threw me to the fields so that I could start cultivating the lands at once!
The unfairness of my ordinary background is enough to make me want to take a machete to the wood table. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea? Does that violent thought signify the beginnings of a nervous breakdown?? Okay, will not get hopes up or disturb imminent breakdown to be. Will sit on chair and wait . Inspiration will be mine at morn! I await tear socked bed sheets and angst ridden night shakes of EPIC proportions!
Day 4 of writing very true woeful story of horrible dark life
Failure thy name is me. I know that sentence makes no real sentence but last night, instead of turning into a frenzy of despair was shattered by the arrival of jovial guests. How am I supposed to write my tale of woe under these conditions!?
commentarythatfillsmymind 
I would love to see a story about someone raised by a cupboard…