My sister used to do violin, but almost the moment we returned the rented one and bought her a new used one, she quit. For all I know it's in the closet collecting dust.
I sat down and tried to write a story.
"Ian MacArthur is a wonderful sweet fellow who wears glasses and peers out of them with delight."
That was the first sentence. The problem was that I just couldn't think of the next one. After cleaning my room three times, I decided to leave Ian alone for a while because I was starting to get mad at him.
-The Perks Of Being A Wallflower
The story of my life ^^^