Crickey, has it been a month since I last wrote? And I call myself a writer. I feel ashamed. I owe a letter to my father and feel even worse about that. The problem as I see it, especially with story writers, is that we get so engrossed in our characters’ lives that we forget to have one of our own.
“And what did you do today?”
“Well, I’ve conquered the evil forces of Zog, rescued a princess, fell in love, only to be betrayed, survived a shipwreck, and raised a family on three shillings a week.”
“Oh, really? I thought you’d been playing on the computer all day long.”
There’s no answer to that. Another month has gone by and I have to confess that when it comes to relating my recent experiences, all I can say is: “I’ve been playing on the computer,” while others in the real world have been combating evil forces, rescuing people in distress, falling in love, handling bad relationships, surviving disasters, and coping with living under dire conditions.
“And what do you intend to do about it?”
“Think of excuses? Look, I’m not ‘playing on the computer’. I’m working, Okay?”
“And what did you do today?”
“Well, I’ve conquered the evil forces of Zog, rescued a princess, fell in love, only to be betrayed, survived a shipwreck, and raised a family on three shillings a week.”
“Oh, really? I thought you’d been playing on the computer all day long.”
There’s no answer to that. Another month has gone by and I have to confess that when it comes to relating my recent experiences, all I can say is: “I’ve been playing on the computer,” while others in the real world have been combating evil forces, rescuing people in distress, falling in love, handling bad relationships, surviving disasters, and coping with living under dire conditions.
“And what do you intend to do about it?”
“Think of excuses? Look, I’m not ‘playing on the computer’. I’m working, Okay?”