Okay so I’ve only written a section of Chapter 1 for my new Fantasy story. I’ve been getting spurts of writing every now and then, especially in Utah — but now I’m back in Berkeley and I have no idea what the next few days of freedom will have for me. I went to a coffee shop and ended up reading an article about people reacting negatively to a mixed race Cheerios commercial. It was definitely a little procrastinating moment, but it was good to watch. Sometimes I forget about the crazies in this world. Here I am trying to write about long tailed creatures who live in a desert, while this country battles the issue of racism. Some try to sweep it under the rug, some say things are blown out of proportion, some are in denial about their own identity, some (like me) want to understand without feeling angry. It’s difficult. I think maybe that’s why I stop writing sometimes. The sense of hope in art and storytelling just falls by the wayside and I think, why should one care? It’s terrible to admit this, but it crosses my mind. I met a man at a party and told him that my projects seem hopeless at times. He told me he felt the same when he was in prison once. He said it served as a lesson because of what he looked like. Because he was black, he had to adapt. I cried very quietly and smiled at him, and he said, “It’s okay. This world needs good guys and bad guys, it’s just the way it is,” and he lightly touched my shoulder. I guess I haven’t made peace with that reality. Many authors have expressed their frustrations through art, I guess this Fantasy project can serve for that purpose. I have to better define the world, my characters, and why they exist. They are reaching out their hands waiting for me, and I feel as if I’m almost there. Why am I making this? should be the question I ask myself. It’s becoming clear. I am so sick of the ignorance in this world, and I want to do something about it.