I'm writing a book of short stories.

I walked Main Mall yesterday as classes let out.  The sea of people induced a twisted feeling of anxiety deep inside me. The anxiety emboldened me.  One of my goals for this year was to indulge my creativity.  As a teenager I drew and then girls happened.  Just before I started university I started writing.  I had chunks of time between biology at Convocation hall and afternoon biology labs at Ramsay Wright.  I would find a spot at Hart House and scribble some lines outside Sid Smith.  I blamed a science heavy course load for not pursuing writing for pleasure - I'm not proud of that.  My first goal for this project will be to write some short stories as a collection.  If I'm really brave by the end, I'll self-publish at Amazon.  The working title is Devouring Wendy.  It's far too early to tell what it is about.  I figure the first few pages will turn into a story or get binned (the latter is the fate I assume for many versions).  This is a great way to fill that time between 05:30 and 07:30 every morning!



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