How's my Book going? Well it's ... not. It's currently 4am, a heightened state of awareness when my brain decides to go from firing random sparks to focused highways of activity directly for the creative district of my lobe of fat that acts as some sort of library of thought and consciousness. At a similar time but in a dissimilar day, my state of consciousness has a eureka moment and confesses the desire to write a book. Yes, me? Write a book? Oh what a pompous conclusion. So someone came up to me the other day, reminding me "I heard you are writing a book, how's that going?" A book... oh... umm... oh yeah that. Does 1500 words count as a book? Oh dear. I rarely think back to my thoughts of yesterday. What is yesterday? Isn't yesterday another version of me but less experienced, a child version of my adult self? Well, after reading section 3 of " http://skinnyartist.com/9-warning-signs-of-an-amateur-artist/ " which states: "