He sat by the warm glow of the lamp, brushing away tufts of hair that tickled his forehead. He had just gotten a haircut, and his head itched. An endless flow of TikTok videos roped him into wasting time; the night was slipping away.
As he slouched on the family room couch, he glanced at the tiny green numbers glowing from the kitchen microwave. His eyesight wasn’t what it once was; the numbers appeared blurry. But still, he could tell it was 8:40 p.m. His chest tightened at the thought of all the things he was supposed to do that day. Would there ever be a day when he felt like he had accomplished everything? Would he live out his days condemned to the grim reality of incomplete to-do lists and unfinished business?
The good news was, there was still time to write. He had set a goal for himself, one he thought would be easy to maintain, but had proven quite difficult:
Document the process of writing a novel.
He had hoped to write something every day, even if it was short, about his writing process. But looking back, he realized he had only written four entries in the past three weeks. Disappointing, to say the least. They weren’t very interesting either.
"Well, I can always begin again tomorrow."
This was something he sometimes told himself to feel better. Or, he would think:
"Don’t you think it will be hard enough to write 1,000 words per day for the novel? Do you really need to document the process as well?"
Well, no, he didn’t need to. But he wanted to. He wanted a way, when it was all said and done, to show, "HERE. This is how I did it."
But sharing these parts of himself was so difficult. Nobody will read this anyway, right?
And so, he decided that perhaps he would write in the third person from now on, to distance himself from himself. It was more interesting that way. He was accustomed to writing in the third person for the novel. Worlds were built, characters came to life. There was no reason he couldn’t create a world for himself too.
"I am he, and he is me."
He sat by the warm glow of the lamp, brushing away tufts of hair that tickled his forehead. He had just gotten a haircut, and his head itched. An endless flow of TikTok videos roped him into wasting time; the night was slipping away.
As he slouched on the family room couch, he glanced at the tiny green numbers glowing from the kitchen microwave. His eyesight wasn’t what it once was; the numbers appeared blurry. But still, he could tell it was 8:40 p.m. His chest tightened at the thought of all the things he was supposed to do that day. Would there ever be a day when he felt like he had accomplished everything? Would he live out his days condemned to the grim reality of incomplete to-do lists and unfinished business?
The good news was, there was still time to write. He had set a goal for himself, one he thought would be easy to maintain, but had proven quite difficult:
Document the process of writing a novel.
He had hoped to write something every day, even if it was short, about his writing process. But looking back, he realized he had only written four entries in the past three weeks. Disappointing, to say the least. They weren’t very interesting either.
"Well, I can always begin again tomorrow."
This was something he sometimes told himself to feel better. Or, he would think:
"Don’t you think it will be hard enough to write 1,000 words per day for the novel? Do you really need to document the process as well?"
Well, no, he didn’t need to. But he wanted to. He wanted a way, when it was all said and done, to show, "HERE. This is how I did it."
But sharing these parts of himself was so difficult. Nobody will read this anyway, right?
And so, he decided that perhaps he would write in the third person from now on, to distance himself from himself. It was more interesting that way. He was accustomed to writing in the third person for the novel. Worlds were built, characters came to life. There was no reason he couldn’t create a world for himself too.
"I am he, and he is me."
