Category Archives: Writing

Breaking…

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There have been times in my writing life when I wanted to stop. I thought, fuck this, I’m done.

It’s happened a lot recently. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m tired of trying so hard and getting nowhere or if I think I’m trying hard but I’m really not.

I have two books out. One is a collection of horror stories, the other a novel. But to say they’ve done well is a lie. They’ve done poorly and I think it’s me. I think it’s because I’m in the horror community, albeit an X or Z-level player, but I’m there. People who follow me didn’t know how to react to Disunion By Force. That’s my fault. I own that.

I don’t understand my disappearance from regular conversations with other writers.

I’m deciding whether to take all of my stories off of their places and shelve them for a while. I’ve talked to my wife about this and she’s cool with it. I have a collection of Travel Horror stories I’ll be putting out this year. I’m working on creating my own LLC for publishing. That will happen later this year before I publish the collection.

I would like to take a year off from my regular day job and write. I also am spending a lot of time playing World of Warcraft. It gives me the mental break I need.

I am considering getting rid of this blog as well. This year is about change and new starts. I’m doing a lot of that in my personal life. I plan to do it with my writing life as well.

I don’t want to quit. I enjoy coming to the page almost every day. The ones I don’t enjoy make the others more difficult.

That’s it for now.

What’s going on?

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I’ve dealt with my stomach issues over the last few months, but that’s not what this post is about.

After I had my initial visit with my doctor, I asked to be put on anti-depressant/anxiety medication. If you’ve read this blog for a while you understand my reasons for that; now I’ve run into a problem.

I started taking the medicine in November and I haven’t written a word since. I don’t feel like writing, reading, or watching anything with my wife. A malaise settled in over my life. One that I’m not comfortable with. Writing and books are where I get the most enjoyment. They’ve always been my safe space. Not writing feels worse than depression.

I’m not cured of depression. That doesn’t happen. I understand that the medicine takes away the depression and the lows in causes. It’s also taking away my desire to work. I get to my desk every morning and stare at a blank screen. I may write something but I delete it later because I’m not interested in what I’ve put down.

I usually start exercising to help with my depression issues. I don’t want to do that either.

I’m going off the medication to see if that fixes this. I can’t live without writing. It’s causing me more mental issues than it’s solving.

I had wanted to publish this year. I don’t desire that either. It’s one of the reasons I haven’t posted here.

Anyway, I’ll let you know how it goes.

The Fear Of Pushing Too Hard

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I have this fear. It rouses its ugly head every so often. I’m working on whatever project, then I think about how much harder I could be working on my writing, on my life, and other things.

This fear becomes complicit in my not pushing my projects when they come out. On not trying hard enough to edit. Each and every one of them deserves my attention, but then there’s this fear.

It tells me that if I work too hard, I’ll alienate those I care about. That they’ll not like me as much. That I’ll break those relationships. I’ve dealt with abandonment issues since childhood. It’s one of my overarching issues.

Within this fear is the worry that if I don’t work harder, what I write won’t go anywhere. I don’t care anymore if it makes money. I care someone gets something out of it. I don’t write for anyone but myself. Some people won’t care about you’re writing. Others will. I stopped worrying about those who won’t. I focus on those who will.

Writing Disunion By Force took me to a few places I hadn’t dared tread since my teenage years. I wrote this book for my teenage self. He read a lot of these kinds of books. Most of them to keep him sane, others to keep him from killing himself.

I found solace and a bit of peace writing this book. I’ve come a long way from the kid afraid of screwing up. He continues to pop up, but I’ve shoved him down a little. I know he’d enjoy this book. I know there were times he was done. Times when it was just him in an apartment reading, watching horror movies, and trying to keep his head above water.

I live through the fear of pushing too hard, but it comes out right. I write for us.

Sea of Illusion

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We often find ourselves lost on a sea of illusion. We see the world around us, at least it’s composition according our little corner, and we may think that’s all there is or could be.

We remove people who’ve done damage to the people we care about most, and we’re better for losing those people.

It’s our way of fighting the delusion of self. The perfection of who believe ourself to be and on that sea we may find the waves smashing against the hull of self. We plum the depths of who we are, never sure of that belief.

There are moments upon the swells or in the squall that sometimes persist where we narrow our focus upon one thing. It’s this isolation of focus where our greatest work may come from. It’s the isolation, and maybe the desertion of self and all the pesky things we associate with it that holds us back.

Upon the sea of illusion rests an island of discovery. It’s this island where we write, paint, perform, and as with every artist of one form or another, it’s our passion place. Our isolated little hole in our mind. It’s where we go to break free from the randomness and to absorb what we’ve been through.

Finding our way out and into the island is sometimes difficult, but it’s the enjoyment of this one thing that gives us the most satisfaction.

Travel the sea of illusion. Find the island of discovery and stay within its confines. There’s magic in that sand.