Over the last few weeks I’ve done grumpy posts and I’ve done self-deprecating posts. Now, in order to demonstrate that as a writer I’m fully capable of displaying a broad range of emotions, I’m going to settle on a new one today. I’m going to get all soppy and sentimental.
I write fantasy. I make stuff up. I use my imagination to invent strange new worlds where extraordinary things happen.
Last week, I wrote a post about how I’m terrible at lying. This week, I thought I should continue on the same line, i.e. things I’m bad at. Come to think of it, I reckon if I kept going on this theme, I’d have enough posts to last for the next three years. But it could start to get a little soul-destroying, so I may keep a lid on it for now.
I’m the world’s worst liar. Always have been. Always will be.
Whenever I try to tell a lie, the giveaway signs are obvious. I fidget. My hands go all over the place. And I can’t stifle the telltale smile that breaks upon my face. Anybody within a mile or so can tell right away that whatever I say is not to be believed.
In my strange locked-down and socially-isolated state, I recently made the decision to look at a calendar. And you wouldn’t believe what I noticed. It is now officially July. That’s right, July. More than half of the year has passed us by.
Usually, when I make it past the halfway mark of the year, I like to post a little progress review. I like to make a few notes to let the world know how I’m going with working towards the goals I’ve set myself for the year. But that’s going to be a little different this year, because 2020 surely is a year like no other I’ve experienced.