Time: 11:15 - 3:15 (1 1/2hr break)
The story has now gone rogue. I think what happened was that after I realized that I was no longer writing the book for others, I no longer felt the need to constrain myself. Ever since then my daily word count has been up. Hell, today I past 3,000 words.
But now the book isn't what I imagined the book to be when I sat down to write it. I guess the truth is that you can't live half your life making questionable decisions and then write a book and not expect the recces of your mind to feed the story. Never in my life did I try to be like everyone else. In high school we had to wear uniforms to school. And where as everyone tried to also wear the same shoes, I had to find a pair that no one else wore. I tried to think like no one else thought.
But crap, what has been the result? What I have written today disturbs me. What it says about me as a person rattles me. There is no other interpretation in what I'm writing accept for the fact that I hate a part of myself. But not only do hate a part of myself but I'm writing it in a book that others will read. This is fucked up! This story is a freak show... or maybe it can be better said that the book is fine, there is just something seriously wrong with the author.