I wrote…what?

A year and a half ago, I started something that would change my writing style and my life. It seemed simple enough: write 50,000 words in one month. All I was supposed to do was sit down and write. I wasn’t supposed to check anything or worry about it. The words were what was important. So that’s what I did.

I sat at my computer and started a story. I had no idea what was happening in it or where it was going, but after my first writing session I was hooked.

The thing was that I allowed myself to write whatever was inside me. I didn’t fight it. I didn’t try to construct it. It simply came out.

For years, I had tried to write a novel (one that I still plan to do one day), but I always got stuck on the first chapter. I would write it over and over until I thought that it was perfect. The problem was that I was never completely happy with it. So I’d go back over it. And, today, all I have of that story is that one chapter.

Now I let things take their course. And I’ve completed a 300,000 word book in the process.

Okay, on to the part I’ve struggled with.

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The Boring Bird

Before I begin, I’d like to write a quick apology. I haven’t written a blog in a while. Recently, I moved to China and it has taken me a while to settle in and build up the energy to write a new entry. I suppose that is the case whenever there are big changes in our life.

Though I’m not going to get into it too much now, I’ve come to China to teach English for a year. I figured it would be a good way to see the world…and make some money. I’ve been off of work for the past year and a half working on my book, and that isn’t the most financially rewarding things in the world. Well, not yet. 😉

Anyway, I know I should probably start this blog off with some of my impressions of China. And I promise that I will do that one day. But, today I wanted to post a story I had written many, many years ago.

The other day I was talking to a few new friends about travelling and some of the moral dilemmas we get into. Specifically, we were talking about how difficult it can be to do what we think is right when we’re in a new place. We often get conflicted by wondering what our place is in certain situations. Once, when I was backpacking around Europe after university, I came across this problem and wrote about it. I actually wrote a whole book on a lot of my adventures and observations during that trip, but I haven’t tried to get it published. At least, not yet. I’ve been thinking a lot about self-pubslihing it lately. Again, I’ll write more about that later.

Back to the story.

It takes place in England. And I witnessed something horrible. Unfortunately, I didn’t act on it because I wasn’t sure of my place. I have to admit that it’s one of my biggest regrets. I might have been able to stop it from happening. Even if I hadn’t, I should have pointed out to the young perpetrators (for lack of a better word) that it had been wrong to do.

Okay, here’s my story. I’d say “enjoy”, but it really isn’t a story to enjoy. Hopefully, it’ll get you thinking though.

Like always, any thoughts are greatly appreciated. I’d especially love it if you had a similar experience. And I’d love to know how you handled it.

Let’s begin.

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