I used to have a reason to type on this blog. I haven’t wrote a page in two weeks. I am afraid I might be loosing my drive. I tell myself stories all the time and make plans in my bed at night to write the next day. But I don’t and feel guilty later on.
What can a unpublished writer do? I loved my writers’ group because it was free and I actually had people respond to my work. It was actually enough for me to have readers. To have people question my work. Sometimes it was really hard because every reader was not into my genre. It was good because I was able to defend my work and make it better. I have not been able to find a group in NYC and I don’t have the cash to join any of the writer’s groups in this place. NYC is supposed to be a writers’ mecca, but it has been a pain in my ass, since I decided to write for my life.
I can’t defend writing to my parents. I need at least three hours during the day but writing doesn’t make money and my mom doesn’t get it because I am not a domestic. Is this a complaint or whine maybe should I post it here maybe not. My few readers have never made a comment, so it is safe to presume you don’t exist. The internet is as big as the world. So my blog is like a miniscule one cell organism not making enough noise for anyone to take notice. Yikes. I might get eaten my a bigger cell. double Yikes.
The new year has begun and I am still setting goals for myself. I hope I can follow through with them this year and stop complaining on these blogs about my worthless life. Instead I think I will use each one to express a different kind of me. I just haven’t figured who get what but when I do. My few readers will know.