There is something comfortable...

There is something so comfortable about watching my husband play Halo3 while I procrastinate writing my book.

I guess the violence of how the dead players are being thrown about make the violence in my brain seem a little more normal. I don't even know if that makes sense. I must be looking for meaning again where there isn't any. At least not to that depth.

There seems to be nothing new, nothing fresh in my mind. Which you think wouldn't be a problem for someone who is writing historical fiction...

But its MY fictitious take on what REALLY happened to my family over the years. This truly is more of a pet project that my grandfather convinced me to do and that I really want to finish before his death.

Rob thinks that I have the drive and the passion to tell the story the way it should be told. But even in this blog there is nothing spectacular about how I am writing these thoughts down. Or Blogging these thoughts down, whatever...

So I go back to the feeling of comfort I have laying here on my bed, Rob next to me, playing video games as I seethe anger towards this project. I know even though I struggle with it , it is what I am supposed to be doing...