I wish I was able to sit here and spill words onto a page that mean nothing, but mean something to someone who reads it, and to them it is entertaining whilst to me it is nothing but passing time. Should I really be doing work when I had booked this as a day off from labour? Psh. Don’t even answer, you know full well I’ll just continue to sit on my arse 
I am re-writing a story I started when I was in year ten, and finished a few months ago. I liked it, don’t get me wrong, but I feel I could write so much more, and make it more structured if I tweaked it, put a little more time into planning and care for the finer details. Many asked me why I didn’t take creative writing at university. I’m sorry, but I don’t think fighting to get a book published whilst I worked in a greasy spoon to pay the outstanding flat bills enlightening. I dream to be like J. K. Rowling, a hit by accident, from an idea created on a train journey home. Creativity hits us at the most unexpected moments. I just hope it comes in time for my imagination to hit a page in full colour, as I know my idea has so much potential. Until then, my characters should sit tight having fun inside my head before they venture out into the hearts of others 
Well, those are my meaningless words for the moment. Have to go back to researching pretty female greek names with interesting meaning… So help me god if my Dad finds out 
