I want to write, but I don't quite know how. The words bounce around my skull, a cacophony of phrases and sounds pouring from my tired mind willing to reach paper. I could start a new book, but then where would I be? A quote in the sea of thousands? An action that sounds too forced? My drama teacher tells me to take one step at a time, if you don't have any ideas for where this particular bit could go, work it out anyway, the storyline will follow. I guess that's why, with the rain pouring down in June and the comforting warmth of home, I write this, in hopes my future self will uncover this rambling and find a place for it. But until then, I shall watch the droplets race eachother on the mist encrusted window whilst my parents watch the football that I say I want to watch yet the entrancing droplets continue to fall. And still I write, but have no clear story.