Oy Vey

I started another story…fudge. Without looking, I think I have thirteen started. I really need to learn how to finish things and not be an erratic mess of a wannabe writer.

My attention span and tendency to despise everything I work on is a real bitch that I’m having a hard time putting in check.

I know writing shouldn’t be easy—at least good writing—but should it really be this hard? Am I doing something wrong? I don’t know. It’s probably just me.

I think my unpublished drafts contain some of my best writing, but I can’t publish them; likely because it’s too me, too raw, too revealing, which is kind of interesting since many of the people who read my posts say that they like me because I’m raw. Imagine, my current posts are raw, what can be in my drafts? Maybe you’ll find out.

Anyways, the new story is about a failed artist, who previously did anti-war, anti-conservative, generally progressive art, who jumps on the new right/alt-right wave and becomes famous, but feels fake(they are) and dirty for going against their morals for fame and money. I’m not a very good synopsis writer, but you get the gist. Maybe I’ll post the first few paragraphs today.

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Pretty Words for Ugly Thoughts

I'm the red-faced conductor of a mangled train of thought.

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