Random Channel Surfing

So, Coachella is definitely a go... BUT, Nix and I still have to decide whether we're flying back on the 20 or 23, seeing as we're heading to Oceanside for some fun. Did I mention we'd fly back in a private plane? That's right. Private. Plane. Like... wow.

I have a small-ish group of friends and we see one another frequently. These are the girls who've seen me at my best and worst, who know my fears and dreams better than anyone, including myself. But one thing they're in the dark about is my writing. It's not that I don't want them to cheer me on or that I don't dream of the day when they buy my first paperback and brag to their other friends about me (hahaha, I'm such a narcissist!), but I do dread the day when they see how terrible at writing I am. I feel like a sham 90% of the time I tell people I'm a writer. I don't think I deserve the title. And maybe that's why I resent editing so much. I know that try as I might to break into the writing industry, there's a small likelihood that I won't fulfill this dream. What then? It's stupid and insecure, but it all makes sense now. I now fully understand why I trust people I meet online with my "little darlings" (

His smile. His hair. His hands. His scent. His laugh. His voice . It was unfair that after all of this time, she still thought of him. Still woke up feeling empty and alone when she turned on her side, only to discover that their encounter had been in her dreams. She wipes away a stray tear and berates herself for crying. It's been years since they last spoke. She has no say, no claim, no anything in his life. He never chose her. Never would choose her. It was her fate and the sooner she understood this, the easier her life would be. At least that's what she keeps telling herself.

Angst: She lies in bed, sobbing uncontrollably. He didn't come home again. AU: He strummed his guitar and looked out into the audience, hazel eyes meeting green. "To the darlin' in the yellow dress, meet me backstage after this song?" Crack!Fic: He looked up from deep in the sea and watched as her yellow feathers skimmed over the water's surface. Crossover: "I don't need you to rescue me, Quinndependence," he grumbled as she set him down on the ground. "I'm sorry you can't take help from a super, " she quipped before flying out into the night. Death: It wasn't supposed to be this way. They were only 16. She was healthy. Parent aren't meant to bury their young. First Time: He brushed a strand off her face and looked deep into her eyes. "You okay?" he breathed. Fluff: They were in a crowded room, shoulder to shoulder in a crammed space. She felt a calloused hand wrap around hers and gave a quick squeeze. Humor: "