The closer I come to finishing my second book, the more I just want to sit in my room in the aptly-named Salinger Space and write.
We recently read Edgar Allan Poe's "Cask of Amontillado" in one of my classes. Is madness a requirement for literary genius?
But seriously. When I was a little younger, it was kind of cool to be "the writer" with the random hobby. Some of my friends would harass me for the next chapter, hell, even the next page.
Is it possible for something like writing to go from being an enjoyable pasttime to a freaking addiction? Is that when you know you're the "real thing" or does that just make one delusional?
.JPG)
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