The Mechanics of Things
I’m really in a funk about writing lately. I am trying to perfect works that I have no reason whatsoever to believe anyone is actually going to read, and I suppose that shouldn’t really matter to me. It didn’t when I wrote the first three books: after all, my dad might read them, or my mom, and that seemed good enough. But now I’m editing my books (again) and crying over my keyboard, because my dad is dead, and I kind of don’t getting much feedback good or bad from anyone to let me know if people are actually reading anything I write, so I feel supremely unmotivated.
No, I don’t want to finish “Disillusionment”. I don’t think I can.
I just wanted to let you know that “Disiullsionment” is tabled indefinitely. I am not able to write it – I don’t really have any confidence at all that there would be any market for it, and I feel supremely unmotivated about writing it – or writing anything. I’m basically really depressed.
I’m guessing no one really cares if I don’t write it.
I’m going to go back to trying to perfect “The Moon Cried Blood” and crying. But not blood. Just water.