I am hopelessly trying to keep up. I am hopefully falling behind. I find myself not having enough time to do anything anymore. I am tired and worn out by the time I get to the weekends. I’m not sure if I’m ready for 2022 yet. I’m not sure how long I want to have cable, but without it I feel as if I’m hiding under a rock. I will not get nearly as much done as I’d like to when the end of December rolls around. I find myself all over the place in terms of emotions, feelings, and thoughts. I haven’t even touched my second story idea since I finished my first story idea. A few people are reading it and one has already finished it. I’m not sure how often I will get to blogging because the more time I spend blogging (the precious little time I have left after work, eating, and soon exercise), I won’t have any time leftover to write my second story. After my quick visit to see my parents, I’m going to hunker down and get more on a routine. I need to do this for my body and mind. It’s screaming for a routine. Let’s just say everything I used to have and do has long passed me by and it’s time to regroup yet again. I’ve really thought about getting rid of my blog because not many people read it and the ones that do, well thank you for your loyalty and following. I sometimes feel who the hell am I really doing this for? I don’t think having a blog increased my book sales. The only people I know who read my novel are people I graduated with or worked with. A part of me is asking what’s the damn point in all of this. Seriously, what is the damn fucking point. I find myself very out of sorts in a way and wondering what I have to do to get more people to read my book. Then again, it isn’t like I’ve been really advertising my book. Frankly, I don’t have the time. I don’t know about the rest of you, but doing something that takes a whole lot of effort and money for basically half a peanut in a cracked shell as a reward doesn’t feel that good. Yet, Edgar Allan Poe died without getting the accolades he deserved. He was penniless, a drunk, and married his cousin. In more recent times, Sylvia Plath stuck her head in an oven and Anne Sexton locked herself in the garage. I’m not saying all great writers suffer from depression and suicidal ideation, but I do think all writers have resistance and stubbornness within them or else they wouldn’t keep going on. No one in their right mind would keep doing something that gives them little monetary reward and keeps them locked away inside, alone, typing while the majority of the human race is doing something else that is fun. Sure, parts of writing can be fun but at what cost? I’m feeling a little dejected but regardless of how I feel, I need to continue on with my stories. If anything my second story for sure because it not only will be my most personal story, but one I feel has the most promise in terms of catching the widest audience/readers. If this book doesn’t, I don’t what will. Maybe, my trilogy if I have the motivation to turn it into three books. I suppose anyone who reads any of my books, I should be happy, and I have thanked those who have bought my book. On this note, I’m going to do a little more blogging and then hunker down and begin my second story, no matter how terrible I feel it’s going because if I don’t start soon, I never will.
Basically, I’m scaling back the bare minimum on my blogs until the end of the year. Not that I’m blogging all that much. I want to finish a large part of my second story sooner than later. Again, not that many people read this, but for those who do, I wanted to be as open and honest as possible. I won’t be away for long (considering I start feeling a little lost when I don’t blog), but adjustments need to be made. I guess I’m saying look out for shorter blogs, less drivel, and more of something new (whatever that is).