Tuesday, 7 September 2010

I've started so I probably won't finish.

Always do this. Have a few bevies and start writing. Last night I was a literary giant who was going to sweep aside all pretenders with the genius of my creation and then this morning I read it. Sober.That was my first mistake.
Badly scrawled biro ramblings revealing some frankly disturbing insights into my psyche and a central character that makes Andy Murray appear charasmatic by comparison do not an award winning west end production make.
Anyone got any ideas for a title? Its a sort of cross between Skins and Cannibal Holocaust.

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