Long Hard Road
Sometimes one’s travels are the best parts of life. Getting to travel and see the sights, to enjoy life, and sip it’s sparkling wine. Sometimes those travels come with a kiss and an open hand.
I’ve traveled twenty years with a clinched teeth and a fist so hard that my feet hurt. It’s been years in the making, I’ve written five million words in those twenty years, none of them any good. When I’ve self published, seen my effort go into overtime. Most noteworthy it’s been blood, sweat, tears, and long nights. What I haven’t seen is results from my efforts. In the few years that my books were self published I never saw any book sales, or even interest in my work.
Now after having spent several months in heads down working on my website, I’m now finally ready to write something new. Since no one will talk with me about what I want to write, I’m going to talk to my iPhone in voice memo’s. Only as a last ditch resort because no one else will take the time to talk with me, or spend time with me. You know if I had some creative friends that would let me do some of the talking I wouldn’t feel like such a loser.
Stories In Dust
I feel like my life has been put into isolation, as punishment. It hurts a lot of days. No one cares. I have screamed time and time again. It sounds like a whisper in the deaf ear of a cat. I’m bored with the status quo. I’m bored with being abused by neglect. Hence my isolation grows thick.
I would like to see some good results from my effort that I have put forth. However it seems that I’m living in a vacuum where none of my effort actually goes forth. Therefore it’s like it’s all filtered and what the people on the other side hear is silence. I’m kind of tired of banging my head upon some mad buggers wall to make peace with those that hate me.
My story doesn’t matter? Maybe you can learn some lessons from my story. Sometimes even the villain see’s themselves as the good guy. But which side of the story you hear and which side of the story you hear about are sometimes two very different stories. Maybe there should be room for a neutral color here, something in the shade of gray.
Walk A Hundred Miles In my Boots
I would love to see you walk a hundred miles in my boots and I get to pick the miles. I would really like to see how you deal with what they have done to me. Self publishing would be cool. But with the rejection I have gotten, I couldn’t give them away for free and meet success from having done something cool.
They want me to believe I’m not capable of making a difference in the world, and that I’m wasting my life, my time, and my effort when no one will ever give a damn. I believe otherwise and would like to prove them wrong. All it takes sometimes is a few people to say something nice about you to the right people.