It’s been a long, long, long time since I’ve written something on here, but believe me it’s part & parcel to the complete and total wipeout of all facets of my writing, so there’s not much to say, and if I could have said it already, I would have. Sometimes life just wipes a person out. And that’s what happened. At least I managed to publish The Starlights. I’m really proud of that book, even if no one has read it, or ever will. The thing about that book is, it’s so honest. And I don’t say that to pat myself on the back or anything, I’m saying it because it’s true. Somehow I was able to channel the spirit of a 1970s teenage boy, and his friend, and dammit if it didn’t take me over completely and leave me an emotional mess afterwards. I even started smoking while writing because everyone in the book did. Now that’s crazy. And no, I am not still smoking. That was back in the summer.
Anyway, if I write a book I’m going to become the freaking character or not write at all. Do I really want to turn into these wild and crazy folks? Do I even have the energy? It takes a lot of love and drive to do this. I used to picture writers as people who drank coffee and sat in a stiff chair all day, tapping away at a manual. But no, it’s like, I’m going to end up in Pennhurst the way I do it.
I want to write again so bad. Somehow I have to figure out how to do it and still be me. Whoever I am.