I spent most of this morning trying to figure out what to write. I had four or five different ideas for posts, all of which I threw out.
I'm blocked.
The three reasons I am blocked:
- Recently, someone I respect criticized this blog.
- Shortly after, I didn't get a writing job I really wanted.
- Shortly after that, a writing mentor of mine said a piece I had written for him as a favor “needed a lot of work.”
Taken individually, none of these would have been that big of a deal, but together, they sent me down a shame spiral. It's true. I'm a terrible writer. I have no taste. I'm immature. Everyone can read my blog now and see how much I suck. Yada yada yada. Shame shame shame.
The Secret to Getting Rid of Writer's Block
The hardest part of getting over writer's block is to realize you're blocked. Once you know you're sick, it's pretty easy to get through it.
You just have to allow yourself to write the worst sentence in the world.
Barry Michels is a psychologist in Hollywood who charges screenwriters $375 an hour to fix their writer's block.
He once told a screenwriter to kneel in front of his computer for one minute every day, praying to the universe for the ability to write the worst sentence in the world. The screenwriter thought it was stupid, but a few months later he had written an Academy Award winning screenplay.
Why would you want to write the worst sentence in the world?
1. Because it frees you from perfectionism.
I wasted two hours of my morning because I was trying to write the perfect post, one that wouldn't be open for criticism.
This is impossible and not worth the effort. Writing something open and vulnerable, on the other hand, is worth the effort.
2. Because you can't inspire yourself.
In February of 2009, bestselling author Elizabeth Gilbert made a fascinating claim at the TED conference:
There is no such thing as genius.
Inspiration doesn't come from you. It is a gift from something outside of you, and if you write terribly, it's not your fault. All you can do is show up, sit at your computer, and write.
3. Because it's impossible.
Writing the worst sentence in the world is just as impossible as writing the best sentence, but for some reason, when you intentionally aim to do something awful, terrible, simply no good, for some reason it frees you to do your best work.
If you give yourself permission to be a sucky writer, you allow yourself to be great.
Have you experienced writer's block lately? What caused it? How did you get out of it?
PRACTICE
Our goal today is to write the worst sentence in the world.
I want to see spelling and grammatical errors. I want to be bored reading it. I want you to write something so bad that when people read it they think, “This guy / girl sucks.”
In order to write the worst sentence in the world, write for fifteen perfect-free minutes. Then, go through your writing and look for the absolute worst sentence you wrote.
When you've found your worst sentence, have the courage to post it in the comments.
This is a fantastic post Joe. I think we ALL struggle with this from time to time.
Thanks Jim.
This is a fantastic post Joe. I think we ALL struggle with this from time to time.
Thanks Jim.
Great post Joe! I was tempted to post my entire assignment because there were so many “honorable mentions.” But I decided I would spare you the torture and just post the 1st place winner:
I find myself feeling good about myself, in some area of my crappy existence, but then I’m tempted to compare myself with someoneelse who is feeling good about there crappy existence, and I end up coming up short, again…and it sucks.
This is truly terrible, tdub. Well done 🙂
I like how you misused “there”–should be “their.” You got it.
Finally somebody appreciates my gift of mediocrity!
haha
yup
Great post Joe! I was tempted to post my entire assignment because there were so many “honorable mentions.” But I decided I would spare you the torture and just post the 1st place winner:
I find myself feeling good about myself, in some area of my crappy existence, but then I’m tempted to compare myself with someoneelse who is feeling good about there crappy existence, and I end up coming up short, again…and it sucks.
This is truly terrible, tdub. Well done 🙂
I like how you misused “there”–should be “their.” You got it.
Finally somebody appreciates my gift of mediocrity!
It’s so easy to let criticism outweigh the praise I’m sure you also get. This happens to me ALL THE TIME. The good thing is that both are important because they both push you to keep going and keep making your writing better. So I’m glad you’re dusting yourself off and…going. 🙂 (Also, this wasn’t the assignment–just me commenting. 😉 )
Are you sure? I thought this was the worst sentence in the world 😉
Yep, you’re right. Criticism is good as long as it’s constructive and not destructive. The key is discerning which is which.
It’s so easy to let criticism outweigh the praise I’m sure you also get. This happens to me ALL THE TIME. The good thing is that both are important because they both push you to keep going and keep making your writing better. So I’m glad you’re dusting yourself off and…going. 🙂 (Also, this wasn’t the assignment–just me commenting. 😉 )
Are you sure? I thought this was the worst sentence in the world 😉
Yep, you’re right. Criticism is good as long as it’s constructive and not destructive. The key is discerning which is which.
I would post my worst sentence of the day but I did my writing before leaving for the job and now my writing is in one place and I am in another so I can’t review the work to find the worst sentence, perhaps this one will suffice?
Yes. This is quite the run-on 🙂
I would post my worst sentence of the day but I did my writing before leaving for the job and now my writing is in one place and I am in another so I can’t review the work to find the worst sentence, perhaps this one will suffice?
Yes. This is quite the run-on 🙂
Great Post Joe!! Perfect timing, I know I feel that way a lot, like most days. Here is my worst sentence. It’s a stinker. 🙂
it was in this moment that she was so unsure as to what she was doing and unsure as to her future it was in these moments that she wanted to die wanted to just let it all go and cash it in why couldnt it have been her breathing her last few breaths why was it her that had to go on living and trying to make sense of it all trying to figure it all out, hold it together, move on.
Thank you so much!
Yeah, that’s really bad. You need way too many periods, not to mention a sponge to soak up all that pathos. Great job!
Great Post Joe!! Perfect timing, I know I feel that way a lot, like most days. Here is my worst sentence. It’s a stinker. 🙂
it was in this moment that she was so unsure as to what she was doing and unsure as to her future it was in these moments that she wanted to die wanted to just let it all go and cash it in why couldnt it have been her breathing her last few breaths why was it her that had to go on living and trying to make sense of it all trying to figure it all out, hold it together, move on.
Great Post Joe!! Perfect timing, I know I feel that way a lot, like most days. Here is my worst sentence. It’s a stinker. 🙂
it was in this moment that she was so unsure as to what she was doing and unsure as to her future it was in these moments that she wanted to die wanted to just let it all go and cash it in why couldnt it have been her breathing her last few breaths why was it her that had to go on living and trying to make sense of it all trying to figure it all out, hold it together, move on.
Thank you so much!
Yeah, that’s really bad. You need way too many periods, not to mention a sponge to soak up all that pathos. Great job!
Are your their God; Its me Margrit?
This was a great post, Joe. Keep at it.
Oh my. This is the worst of the worst, I think.
Thanks so much Ryan!
Perfectly tacky!
Are your their God; Its me Margrit?
This was a great post, Joe. Keep at it.
Oh my. This is the worst of the worst, I think.
Thanks so much Ryan!
Love this!
Gracias Kristen!
Love this!
Gracias Kristen!
The narwhals are coming.
I don’t know if I would consider that the worst sentence in the world. It’s pretty awesome if you ask me. 🙂
Hmm, I’ll make it worse next time.
I want to know who the narwhals are! They sound interesting.
Narwhals are like unicorns, except they live in water and are a type of fish. But otherwise, just like unicorns.
The narwhals are coming.
I don’t know if I would consider that the worst sentence in the world. It’s pretty awesome if you ask me. 🙂
I seat down to eat cereeal!
I can imagine Ren saying this on Ren and Stimpy cause when he would say something like sit, it would be stretched out like seeeeat down man!
Nice work.
I like the very cool expression “I seat down” It’s rather unique.
I dreamed of jeanie was full of layers that I wanted to investigate but the tv programmers showed her belly to me and said this is tv now, take it or leave it or leave it to beaver, which I did leave it to beave then i took a shower and walked a long seemingly endless road of no meaning which just went on and on and there was no one there to critique it all and say it was bad.
I really loved this assignment because it does take the pressure off to try to make something halfway descent. I am also really good and running on in a run on sort of way in a sentence where I just don’t ever stop and there are no periods in sight and if someone were to read it it would take a lot of air to say it all out like that and they would be tired and then they would have that look of being annoyed at me and I would duck my head down in shame ever so low as to investigate the sort of shoes I was wearing and notice a new whole was starting to form there and wonder if anyone had noticed and sink into a terrible sort of despair more terrible than just any despair as I dealt with the thought that people knew my shoes…ok I need to put a period there.
Not to bad. It is real easy to just let the words roll on out.
You are right this lesson was a really good one.
I just wish my son would understand that daddy is trying to work here…. Well at less learn something.
I am just pulling a story out of the air. Enjoy.
Time will still go on. I doesnt matter how much we try to stop it or slow it down. It will still keep move. Like today It started out as a bad day. I rolled out of bed late, I didn’t get a chance to write my 500 words in the morning. Well I have been wanting to start writing 500 words in the morning and at night when I get home. Here lately I haven feel like waniting to write much. It is work I guess. Standing on my feet and then going from one apartment to the other. Hmmm… I think I just need to keep it moving.
Well that was 15 mins. With a few stops in there. KIDS…. You gotta love them.
Doing this, that and any thing in betneew. I am going to pick this one here.
Thanks
Margaret chuckled to herself. “I knew he would come through” she said as the mailman delivered a package to the front desk. The woman at the front desk was Margaret. She had said “I knew he would come through” to the mailman. He grinned sunnily and said “Well you’re welcome my dear! I knew you would be very happy to see me. Fifteen long years we have been married, of course.”
“Of course,” said Margaret testily.
“And it’s really amazing that I happened to be driving by when I suddenly remembered the package I had to deliver here! What a coincidence!” He said in amazement.
“Dont’ worry honey. I missed you!” Margaret said with enthusiasm. But her heart was pounding. She had been having an affair with the mailroom clerk, not the mailman in this story, but a different mailman, who worked in the company that Margaret worked at. She could not let it slip to her husband, the mailman.
“Anything new?” said the mailman (the first mailman.) Margaret couldn’t think of what to say at first. She knew she had to come up with something or he would know that something was amiss. But then she thought of something to say. She said, “No, not really.”
“Oh. Well, in that case! I’m off to make my rounds!” the mailman shouted. “I love you Margaret!” He turned and walk d away from the front desk where Margaret was working.
“Does he always shout like that?” her boss said as he walked over, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“No,” said Margaret. But her heart was pounding. She had been having another affair with her boss, and she couldn’t let the mailman know (the second mailman).
“Well, tell me if there’s anything you need.” He grabbed her hair playfully and mussed it up. Then he walked away. But not before he said one last thing: “I love you Margaret!” He shouted this sentence very loudly, almost as loud as her husband did when he was saying goodbye to her.
Margaret sighed in relief. Then the doors opened and the mailman (the first mailman, her husband) walked in. “Honey? Did you open the package yet?”
Margaret chuckled to herself. “You’re so impatient sweety?” She decided to open it right then and there. Inside the package was a box of chocolates. “Happy valentines!” the first mailman shouted from down the hall. Then he turned and walked back out.
Margaret sighted in relief again. Then the other door opened in the back and the second mailman (not the first) strolled in. “Are they gone?”
“Yes honey, it’s just you and me.” Margaret purred like a cat.
“Good.” the second mailman said quietly. Not loud. That’s why she liked him the best.
This made me laugh, It is probably the worst sentence in the world.
This isn’t the worst sentence, but not really the best. So, you have done a good job in creating a not so good sentence for the assignment. The first line of the sentence sparks interest for the beginning of a story.
This made me giggle I think I’m in love
Why?
Wow, I am so against this post! I can’t even believe something like that is written here!
First of all, we are all responsible for our writings/actions and so forth. There is no ‘entity’ inspiring us. It’s our surroundings definitely, even music or art, but no ‘entity’; there isn’t someone else to blame when we write bad. When we write bad, we just need to practice more. Even the greatest writers out there had once written something horrible of which they’re embarrassed!
Putting the blame on someone else is so f*cking stupid, irresponsible and literally BAD for the writers (or for any profession)! You take responsibility and you practice more.
There is a reason you received those bad reviews; and that reason was for you to learn by your mistakes and to improve yourself, not to make a f*cking prompt, advising people to not accept their responsibilities and trying to write the worst they could……..
Wow, I’m actually so angry right now that I am having great doubts on whether I should continue with these prompts… Anyway, I’ll read what’s next and decide then.
This prompt was horrible, honestly.
As for how to deal with artist’s block I would give much greater solutions to people here, and one of them is: brainstorm.
Find your general topic and write it down (for example “space”) and then write down random words that come to your mind with this subject (“spaceship”, “moon”, “galaxy”, “anti-gravity” etc etc etc). Then revise them and remove the words that doesn’t seem to fit in to the general topic (or you don’t believe they’ll fit in to your story). Then, try to combine these words and start slowly making short stories into your mind.
Another brainstorm method that I have been told by a screenwriter was to sit down and draw something random. A random item that just comes to your mind. He had given the example of drawing a sword. Then, start questioning yourself: what does this item mean? Where does it come from? Who owns it? Is there someone who wants to steal it? Where is it located? and the list goes on again…
You can google search for more on such ideas to remove your artist’s block; but writing badly and refusing to accept any kind of responsibility for your writing is definitely NOT a method to deal with artist’s block…..
Interesting points, Twinss. Have you seen this from Elizabeth Gilbert:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=86x-u-tz0MA
Guest – the idea may not appeal to you, but I am sure that I am not alone appreciating the honesty and vulnerability of this prompt and I found it really helped me. When a writer loses confidence and gets so tied up in seeking perfectionism that they freeze completely, it feels empowering to give yourself permission to just write any old thing to get the cogs whirring again. For me the responsibility comes with knowing that it is not your finest work and therefore not sharing it with any old Tom, Dick or Harry, but rather keep it to yourself or only offering it to others as a token of trust in a safe environment such as this where we all strive to be better writers but know that we are still human.
The night was darkly storming as the tears flushed down my chubbily swollen cheeks to meander ever downward to join the polluted puddle of murkily dank fetid water surrounding my bare toes sparkling with their crimson-ish polish in the light of a single dim bulb.
OK so this was as horrible and trite as I could do in an instant. However I am now filled with questions……. Why were her cheeks swollen? Is she on prednisone? Did someone hit her? Is it even a she? Why is she standing in a polluted puddle and what was the color of that nail polish? I may want a bottle.
I don’t think I have writers block but sometimes a story gets kinda stuck and I need a new perspective. Sometimes I draw maps, floor plans of the castle, house or pub. That gives me ideas and I am ready to go again.
When she was around, it rained. It was never not raining when I saw her. She was nostalgic about it. It never got old for her. It never made her sad. She talked about it in such a way it made you want to love it too. It made you want to love her.
Yet loving her, or the rain, wasn’t possible. There was always a distance about it. The way you can easily love rain from a distance. Sitting inside smoking a pipe with a glass of scotch. That was how I loved the rain. Looking at her, that was how I wanted to love her. That was how I loved her. Just like the rain, she too would blow away with the wind in a new season.
Loving her forever was never an option. No matter how much I wanted to love her, I knew I couldn’t. Same with every man before and after me. She comes in shining as bright as the sun, yet the rain follows her every move. She was always comforted by a good book, the smell of pipe tobacco, and the sight of a bearded man drinking the scotch she just poured him.
She was as light and airy in presence as the wind, yet the weight of her thoughts were as heavy as rain filled storm clouds. She brought the comforting breeze of a summer storm but left a cold chill after the last fall rain.
She was the best I had and the hardest to lose. With ever rain, she still swims through my head. I’m left standing in the cold downpour thinking of times with her. The times she would pull me close and make me slow dance with her in the rain. It didn’t matter where. A park. Leaving the bar. In front of her house. She would dance in the rain.
Sometimes she’d walk out of the house and just stand there. She’d ask me if I saw it. If I saw how much more beautiful the world looked in the rain. She’d ask, almost childlike, why so many were bothered by the rain. Why people saw the rain as an inconvenience. She said she chose not to understand it.
There were days I’d catch her sitting in my leather chair. She would move it by the window and would look out as far as she could see. She said she’d never leave if she could help it. That she’d stay there forever if she could.
Her kisses on my face were delicate and simple. Like the rain lightly falling on your face. The way she moved, the way she kissed, even the way she spoke mimicked the rain. She spoke in a way that made you forget how long you had been talking, how long you had really known each other. The same way you can watch the rain and lose track of time and track of the days.
Then it grew colder. Even rain has to go away. The rain stops right before the winter. She grew cold and distant. She said she had to leave. She needed to see the rain in a different place. She needed to be warm again. “Spring comes after the winter,” she’d say, “and with spring comes the best kind of rain. New rain, but a familiar smell. A imilar taste on your lips. A long remembered kiss on the cheek.” And just like that, she was gone. The rain left with her.
But spring comes next, and with spring comes a new rain …
Amazing.
The dog looked like a cat, but it was actually a dog.
Also, http://www.bulwer-lytton.com. Huge time suck. You have been warned. Now, go click on it.
I lik many poops.
(My apologies for the fecal reference – I’m 11)
I watch her look into my eyes and suddenly, I realize that she no longer loves me; her hateful feelings are bare and no longer disguised.
She looked at him. She looked down. She looked at her fingers. He always thouught it was funny how she did that. Then she said something but he didbt hear her because he had headphones on and he was reading a book so he didnr notice. She left.
And actually I also sometimes I like to eat peetsa at my hows.
If I had written yesterday, my writing would have sounded horrid, because I was as dry as a rock, that was unweathered for years, from sitting on a random shelf display, merely, only collecting dust. ”
^^^^ MY WORST SENTENCE EVER , on why I did not write yesterday … ^^^^^^
an excerpt from today’s 15 minutes timed writing….
I think it’s bad, because I know I could do so much better… talk about writing grief on paper, and being hard on yourself.
Prompt #5 The Darkest Day Is Upon The Craving
By Kiki Stamatiou a.k. a. Joanna Maharis
The darkest day is upon the craving for the desire to be free of the mentality of my block.
My mind is the clearance when the road is of the same piece of steel that has built up in my soul after being driven by the disease sucking the life out of my spirit.
Let the angels ring their tongs at my face, when I am ruptured at the seems of my remorse for my faulting showers that burst through the door. The longing for the new endeavor of the concrete has been the awfulest day of my dying days.
I’m driven by the force that has built up on my fever when the rain sets into my heart.
Drive through the essence of my spirit, when the foul in the earth plays on the concrete waslls in the esteem of my everafter. I realize my comings, but never driven by the under current ripping apart my fasts pulse.
The seeds you planted in the dessert have come into bloom in the misty eyes of the moon.
All have come to face the torment you have ruptured in the vessel of my soul. I long to free myself from the pasteurized song that drowns my sorrows in your rain. I’m uplifeted by the frigid grapes bursting my taste buds; however, the evenessence burns into my core.
I call out to the rain. I wonder how the rain sent you down into the waters of the pedal down the hurricane. Spirit burns into the revolving door closing on you, locking you out of my mind, heart, soul, and spirit. I’m amidst Shouting into the barrel is the force of the universe.
Why do you speak in tongues whenever I wash away the tears of my rain. Clean up the dust in the wind. Shallow out the mime who becomes you in the darkest hours of your depth of emotion. Rally through the end of the hazy graves that burning through a artful sun.
I admonished your soul to become the reaping corn field whose beams of light radiate into me. I feel overcome by the songs you sing. For your words bring me into the light of the new day, when the rains dry up in my core.
For your inner being is the magnitude that has spoken through its own admonished sillohuette in the days end. It’s so long to drive thru the sun on its back that burns with passionate flames. I dance into your light to shower every shallow grave with the Lord’s truth. I shall burn it into every mind of all mankind.
Sing into the drifters tabernacle when the lulling for the roses to beat their hearts until they scream out in their own desires is the leaving of the body when the spririt has broken down. Crumbling the dust into the river where the angels ignite the tiger with the humble words of the lamb.
Play the live song in the hour of my rain. For every breath you take will take on a whole new meaning. All the ways of the sun echoes through the thunder of the vice of my
spirit.
I relate to the solar system when the echo in the chambers of my heart is blocked. I’m ready to blow up the earth with the fumbling blocks of the darkest grave, but I’m not willing to lay the truths of the bond in peril that hold my heart at ease. For every windsong is the seed.
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2015
she sat down in the gray chair. she stared at her fingers, not twitching, just waiting, like humanoid automatons devoid of the mechanical spark that would make them pump up and down over the keyboard, spelling out winning permutations of letters. she yawned, wrapped her stupid teeth around the rim of her mug with a painted rooster on it, and crossed her legs tight against each other. she tilted her head, dousing her two motionless hands and $1000 keyboard in hot chamomile tea. as sensation vanished from her hands and then returned in tingling, the computer clicked and whirred its agony.
Humor poetry. We need more of this.
Hurry because in this single sentence during which contains the included singel sentence within as well as the first one so I am asking how is it even possible that a person couldn’t know that they studies have proven that they already aware of the fact that perfect represents that dramatical seriously abjective “demon” who will fight fight and fights because that dramastical seriously demon (DDS heretoforth) is by far and land the enemy of good down to the minute.
Dun dun dun dun dun dun-dun dun dun-dun, that’s
the music that plays when WHAMMO Darth appears and hes like whats up bro weres the princess at?
Thank you so much, this is the best tip to unblock writer’s block I’ve read. Now I can go and write stupid and weird stuff and still be okay because I can do better.
It all started with an email. There it was, in bright pink letters.
(I hate when people talk like this)
The guy, like, was so, like, amazing. I was like, so impressed. I took a sip out of my Starbucks. I sighed in content. This is like, so good!
And so I try to write bit I can’t as nothing is projecting from my head to the pen.
My worst sentence about the mental block.
It buraely hatered
See, she’s smiling like an agel like now. Like Lucifer.
Marks bruise created fear in joe’s face, but he he tried best to make it unoticebale in fear of being called a ‘pussy’.
A space program to Mars will incredibly boost our understanding of our place in the universe.
terrible writing is were i come from, i would love to move out of this ugly place and drift off into another home.
I come to know writing randomly without looking at the screen or paper makes my writing sound better, i spend hours trying to fix a mess that i created which took me a hell lot of time.
Listening to classical music while writing puts one in a different atmosphere and god its helps them write much more confidently.
The dog walked steadily with the young kitten, but as he got older he the kitten, now cat came back with a bag of dogchews in her mouth offering it to the dog who once walked her when she was young.
I wanted to suicide, but that would mean killing myself
I write terrible sentences. Writing terrible sentences is what I do best. So why can’t I write my terrible sentence now? This is harder than I thought, I thought to myself. What should I do? How am I going to make the worst sentence in the world? Should it start with an ‘I’ or a ‘The’? What should the sentence be about, in the first place?
I watched him depart as my chest deflated with the lost hope of saving another poor condemned soul. His back was so arched that his gaze fell upon the floor just before each shuffling foot as he went about his own little routine, leaving me free of my intended burden and with a sense of hollowness inside.
He would die later today. I knew that for a fact, yet my premonition and well-meaning offer of assistance to try and save him from that void which lies beyond could not dissuade him from the path he progressed along.
My heart beat heavily in my chest as I tried to turn my thoughts to the next endeavour I’d set myself for this day, trying to forget about the poor old seafarer and his fate.
No, some days you just couldn’t make a difference but it should not deter you from at least making the attempt, for along the line of failures there may be the one soul you do manage to pull from the jaws of death. To cheat the reaper of his prize.
I glanced after the departing figure, only for a moment, then turned away to regard the vibrant city teaming with life, amongst which there were other souls in dire need of my services.
The student, the banker, the homeless man with the dog…
I set one foot before the other and moved back within their number, my goal defined and my mind resolved.
Before this day was out I would save at least one of them, if not all.
I know it was meant to be a sentence, but it kept flowing so I just followed…..
What do I believe some time you should behave somehow to some ,level of goodness that is called towards perfection. But it happens that nobody cares foe your austerity and neatness. Very bad things come out of my mind. That is not basically the slang language I am using. But it happens. We have not given any right to anybody to criticize us I do not disagree upon this you are welcome to attempt your critics flavors upon us. But not to make it a bloody hell.
taking into the action. When a new element is born you can name it as revenge as suspicious. Or to show that I can overcome them. This is very hate full refute. I have always ridiculed this attitude. If you can not show your calm your generosity and some point of determination then it is all hell.
soberly you trying to show generosity or making the things on ground level.But it seems me it is all nonsense. They are ready to come to universal terms it is bully Alas it is bully. Why it is going like this. Creeping power it is worst thing. If you have got the courage to standup in the public but dragging others collars and saving your skin is not good policy.
There are only two ways some body is planed or somebody makes the attempts to plan. But making the fucking language it is dubious work. We should not allow them foe this. But if it happens let it happen. But bumping on others and glopping their lungs is nowadays practice. why are you humping and bumping like this. Strike them like anything, you can not keep your fist closed all the way.
.
After having gone all the way over and past the top of the mountain range that was several kilometers north of the city in which he had grown up as a child, but not been born in, owing to his father’s line of work which required his constant travelling in order to procure new clients face-to-face (for that touch of personal attention), he unfortunately died.
“Say to me that you love me” Said the boy to the girl who was giggling flirtingly as she blushed her red cheeks which the boy kissed and he also blushed. Because as the great poet, Tommy Wiseu once said. “People don’t need to say it. They can feel it.”