A story been written during my sleepless nights, fairly accompanied by my SSRI drugs, a cup of frappucino and a chunk of optimism. Presenting you, my deadly trial on becoming the most random, engineering-major, truly amateur fictional writer, 'Dead Cat For Zoey'. Well, if Sophie Kinsella, Emily Cassel or Stephanie Meyer happen to read my book, please, don't flush mine into your bowl. That's too rude! Haha.
blacky dead cat

Friday, April 2, 2010

Four bottles of isotonic and sore throat

It's getting hot in here. In Malaysia. Really hot and long drought. Hot Indian summer, as most Americans referred in their writings.

I don't do anything today, not adding even a single word into my I-don't-know-if-it-gets-published-or-not book. That's too much adjectives there, right? So, I got fever and chill, thanks a million to my dad for buying me four bottles of 100PLUS isotonic drinks, 'cause I felt dehydrated so much, like running back-t0-back marathon from Kedah to Johor, then to Kedah, yeah, that kind of exhaustion and dehydration. See what I mean? And I got horrible sore on my Adam's apple (mine but Adam's. Isn't that conflicting each other?)
Also, watch out for second wave of the H1N1. A community advice from the guy in Dead Cat for Zoey.
So, sorry, no book updates.

Word counts: Refer previous post
Current Chapters: Same goes. Refer below.

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