i hate my story.
there i said it.
i honestly think it’s the worst thing i’ve written since i was about four years old.
i sent it along to derek to have it torn asunder with the hope that i could get a couple ideas out of his dissection and fix it form there. something else happened –
i have a new story idea (based off of what i had started writing and abandoned in the previous version due to just giving up on the story) that i think will be pretty good. now it’s just finding the time to write it. on a positive note, everyone in my house is now healthy (well, healthier – my 3 year old seems to have developed a nasty cough, but only when he’s asleep, so i’m ignoring it for now) so i don’t have to help comfort a congested and miserable six month old who refused to let you put him down or he’d start screaming again (which is VERY out of character for him).
now i just have to figure out a way to end my story without someone dying. why do so many of my stories end up in such dark places? maybe it’s because i’m subconsciously trying to make up for derek’s zaniness. probably not. it’s more than likely due to the mars rover.