25 September 2009.

I am attempting to write a book. This will not be a FanFic, a short story, or a journal such as this, but an actual book. I haven't completed anything in my entire life before, so writing a book and trying to complete it will be extremely hard for me, since I run out of ideas so quickly.

This will be a horror/suspense book titled Darkness. I'm writing it in complete chapters, meaning it will be several pages. But the problem is that I need inspiration and I can't seem to find any of it anywhere. I mean -- Anyone could capture such a divine gift, but I... For a person such as I, it is very hard to grasp what you're trying to write down on paper. I sort through so many ideas a day, and most of the time, nothing seems to work out. My mind is not how it should be. It's twisted and gnarled up, much like a crushed aluminum can that has been sitting in a creek for over sixty years. It's been abused, alone, and often forgotten.

It seems I have gotten off topic... Back to inspiration. I need it to continue my work that is probably worth nothing. I mean, who's to say that I have a chance to have my stories read by someone very important to Literature? That's right, I have no chance of that happening. I'm not good. Again, I'm off topic... But I guess I have to look at things from a new perspective. Inspiration, inspiration... I need all that I could ever wish for. From anywhere, anytime. Sometimes I just sink because I have none of it at the right time. I'd just... Sink to the very bottom of a bay, never to be seen again, because the stones at the bottom of water are usually the ugliest and the ones that are not worthy of seeing. I'm neither pretty nor luminous like the other rocks that are on the shore of this bay, but I hope that one day, when I erode and grow into something bigger than I am now, I will be like the other pretty rocks on the shore of this bay.

I need help... I should be writing my heart away on my book, but I write away in this journal, thinking it would do something. Probably not, right? Oh well... I feel like the main character of the book at the moment. I feel all of his pain, pity, sadness, and his hope. Maybe I've designed my own self as my main character, Robert, to help me control myself, to keep me from going insane most of the time. All of the time. Maybe that's why I've been able to keep myself happy for so long, until I crashed later at night, around one in the morning. I would write and write most of the night, until I passed out and dreamed of what happened next.

So many silent cries... And I have no answers for them. I'm sorry...