This is probably getting old (if anyone still reads any of this) but I haven't been able to concentrate on writing for long enough to put real content here, so I guess I will just tell you a real life story.
I'm sitting here writing this from the waiting room of my therapist. Yes, I'm stereotypical. I am a starving artist, who, as far as I know, is only starving because he can't finish anything worth reading. And I have a rather intense case of chronic depression.
For the love if god, don't read that as a request for sympathy. Quite the opposite. I think its just... an excuse maybe? I would like to believe that I know my way around a story and the language well enough that, if I finished anything resembling a novel, plenty of people would read it. And I have no aspirations to get movie deals and all that sort of fame and hullabaloo. I just want to create enough to live my life, and on some level, I know its possible. I hear these stories or whatever about people self-publishing to the kindle store and whatnot, and it shows me there is a light at the end of my tunnel.
Alright, sorry. This whole thing is really just supposed to be me apologizing to no one in particular for having a shit blog. I will do my best to give you guys something with reading this week, (hopefully several somethings, I really need to get to work) and I will see you then!
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