Had a good hangout sesh with mom. We talked.

She gave me an idea for a short story. A boy meets and old man who is a nihilist and teaches him lessons of despondency, then he meets a dog and the dog teaches him lessons of the carefree. Contrast. It will, of course, be written well because it will be written by me. She literally came up with this plot for me. And she can do others, it’s easier for her, so I could potentially write a short story collection. That would be great to publish. I have always dreamt of being a professional writer. The craft is so pleasant and wholesome and rewarding, intrinsically.

So I’ll be writing that instead of poems tomorrow from 2 to 3. We’ll see how much I get down. I won’t write linearly, just whatever comes to mind, then editing later. Usually my writing style for longer things.

I’ve read some good short stories in my time. Like Bartleby the Scrivener. Some really classic stuff out there. Lots of good writing in school. I feel like essays would be easy these days, because I write so much, mostly on here. I’m not worried at all, that it wont’ come out well. I’m excited.

She is good to talk to. I feel calmer and more whole. Mom.

That’s it for now.

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