FicWad

I stare blankly at my computer screen. It's warm in my lap, while the breeze cools me down. What should I write? Every time I finish reading a memoir, I feel like writing down my life.

"Those memoirs are fucking poison" I mumble to myself. Of course, talking to myself was a wacko habit, one that have gotten from my mother, no doubt.

Those memoirs, the ones of those people with the sad, adventurous, comical, tragic lives, always get me thinking of my life. My hardly adventurous, boring life. The one that no one wants to read about.

"Well, if you are so eager to write it down, there must be something there, right?" I say to myself. I don't think so at all. I have such a boring, "going nowhere in specific" life. Is that what people want to read about? No way, no how. They want tragedy, humour, adventure. Not boring, nothing, and nowhere.

"Well, who dictates writing, huh? Who says you can't write whatever you feel like writing down?"

I've made a good point. No one dictates that. The audience does, I guess, but who says a person or two won't want to read about this? Who says I can't just write it down? Who says it's supposed to be whatever people like?
I've really convinced myself, haven't I?

But where would I start? Where would I end? I shrug.

"I don't know." I think "Just start at the beginning. Add on from there."

Brilliant! Adding on. Starting at the beginning.
Now, who would've thought that? Now I'm really revved up. I know that, as soon as my fingers hit that keyboard, I am unstoppable.

Surely, my life isn't over. On the contrary. My life is a movie, and we're just getting to the exciting part.

And I begin to type.
Begin at the beginning.