It's after midnight, I'm sitting here in a South Korean PC-Bang; I probably shouldn't be drinking a Pepsi with the way my tooth feels, but the idea of coffee just doesn't cut it for me. After having stayed up to watch a Biography special on Arirang about writer Sidney Sheldon. It was inspiring just to see what this man had done, watch how it all came about, and maybe wonder where I was, and where I could be as a writer myself. That's a way that I wonder about myself, and probably one of the few areas that is truly unfulfilled in me. And I'm fairly certain it will have it's place, although my ideas when it comes to writing take a lot more "stewing." I listened to the Stephen King read the book-on-CD of "On Writing." My ideas tend to be a lot more like the way he describes; they hit with the force of a train wreck, and then I'm forced to act upon them, for the mere fact of getting them out of my system, lest they drive me completely insane, tormenting me day and night. The nature of my mind, what can I say? I've had my share of conceptions for what kind of writing could possibly be coming out of a trip like this, but the train wreck hasn't happened--yet. In my mind, I want that kind of Sidney Sheldon/Stephen King greatness, and I feel like I have it. Design. Writing novels. I drift almost inevitably towards output over which I have total control. I have hypothesized a lot over why this is in me, and I still hope that people don't take it as something bad in me. My individuality seems to be enough of a sin to a lot of people, although I myself have never seen the friggin harm in it. I am who I am, what's the problem? Nothing, at least as far as I can see.