Last night Robb and I were lying on the bed just chatting and harassing the cat, and he asked me a question.
"What's one of your dreams?"
It took me a minute to dig one out of the back of my mind. I've been doing so much day-to-day living and just spending time keeping busy that I haven't really thought about it in a while. My dreams.
I told him that someday I'd like to own a used bookstore.
He wants to run a ski hill.
I want a wall of built-in bookshelves. A place to keep ALL of my books, instead of having them tucked into corners and spread across two counties.
He wants a house and a yard where we don't have to worry about obnoxious new neighbors moving in.
I want to be published.
There. I said it. Now it's out there. Do you know how scary that is for me? To admit that? It's way scary. I mean...maybe you all already assumed that I wanted to be published. You'd have to be stupid (or new around here) to not know that. Who writes five novels, three screenplays, a handful of short stories, and a shitload poetry but doesn't want to be published? Durr. But I never say that. It's scary. Terrifying.
Hello. My name is Justin, and I want to be a published writer.
That's my dream. What's yours?
the first attack wave
52 minutes ago