From May 7, 2007; my last blog post. I think I remember why I quit, now.
I haven’t written anything in months.
I go to bed at night with all the best intentions in the world to write something in the morning, then I get up and don’t do a damn thing, so I sorta gave up.
I don’t know *what* happened other than everything I was writing seemed to be unobtainably difficult, obtuse, non-beautiful; in short, crap. So I gave up. I sat on my fat ass for a month, and decided finding a pathetic job at Pizza Hut is at least bringing cash in for me, which is better than I can say about my writing care.
I think the main hit for me though is I didn’t feel like anyone believed in me or my writing talent; or moreover in its ability to eventually make money. Maybe I didn’t believe it myself.
no one does…. just you folks & a couple other online friends.
Writing is very lonely, and it’s a not a small wonder so many writers drink themselves to death
I’ve been applying for jobs for 2 months now. It’s part of the reason I stopped being online. I simply couldn’t face the fact that my writing sucked ass, nor could I face my friends and tell them my writing “career” wasn’t working out like i planned. I was very, very ashamed. I still am, as a matter of fact, and and I don’t think anyone can or does, understand how much it hurts me.
But face it. I’m fucked. My writing blows. I’ve said goodbye to the muses, bowed my way from my olympian pipe-dreams, and will take my chances delivering pizzas, fast, for friendly people who tip well.