Thursday, May 24, 2007

I waste my own time

I'm starting a new book. Writing it, that is. This is a phenomenal waste of personal time and energy. I am not a good writer. I have no sense of plot, character, theme, or those things that are interesting to read. I am also a horrible speller. The part of the brain that absorbs language, interprets, and then allows reciprical response was badly damaged during the journey through the birth canal.

I have written, in their entirety, four complete novels. In addition, I have written fifty or sixty billion failed attempts at novels, various articles, opinion pieces, short stories, song lyrics (for a friend's punk band) and so forth. It all falls nicely along the bell curve of suck.

But I'm starting a new one, which means for the next month or so (I write 2,000 words a day when I write these things) I will become withdrawn, obsessive, and depressed.

In the meantime, an older book called The Best Of Gas Station Sluts is available at , a wonderful little resource for people like me who desire to create and share, but lack what the industry calls "talent." Check it out.

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