I missed the Book Fair this year by several minutes (okay, an hour!), arriving at the Mall of Asia at 9PM when the fair closes at 8PM. Thanks to my reliable booklover of a friend, Ivy, who tipped us that Fully Booked was not part of the Fair this year, so they’re holding their own big sale in their own stores. So yay for me, I still had my bookgasm satisfied at Fully Booked.
Four books (all old titles) for barely P100 each. I was happy with my buys. I would’ve gotten more but I didn’t want to waste all night with Ivy and R following me around. LOL.

Now I’ve never really been one to have her nose in a book all the time, but I’ve been trying to get back to the habit lately for the sake of online-offline life balance. And how can you read books and not think of being a writer, right? The more I read books, the more I come face to face with my frustrations as a writer. And that’s just the case with me lately.
I’ve always wanted to be a *real* writer. I feel like a fraud, claiming that I am a writer at one point in my life when every single day for the past 5 years I struggle being one, groping for words and getting my tenses confused all the time, thinking of other career options I could pay my bills with but couldn’t find any.
In my frustration, I had this really short and sweet conversation with R in the car on the way back from MOA:
Me: I want to be a writer!
R: But you are a writer! You write! In your blog!
Me: *rolling my eyes* But that’s just a blog! I write yucky posts!
R: Then write a.. yucky book.
I’ve always thought R was a genius. In all fairness to him, he was driving at that time.
*Sigh*
The frustration continues.
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jozzua
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http://unscripted.tumblr.com fena
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http://www.refineme.org Tina
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jozzua
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http://nyminutenow.com Mariel
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