The basic premise of storytelling is that one shares experience, whether their own or something they invented. My goal with writing is always to entertain. I don’t have that much to sacrifice for this goal, because I will admit I don’t know much about the world.
I knew less when I started writing, though.
I was thirteen or fourteen. That year was rough for me. I was in the process of adjusting to the middle school environment. I don’t remember that much about the time. Most of what I can recall I wish I didn’t.
I didn’t enjoy 8th grade much.
But I started writing back then. I took lengthy breaks during some years, but I’ve never hung up the spurs and six-guns for more than a few months at a time aside from in college.
And yet, I’m way behind. I don’t have series-length works like I’ll need to attract big readers on Amazon, and I’m not sure I have the will to write a mighty series along the lines of M D Cooper, or Michael Anderle, or any of the other giants out there.
What I have is my desire to entertain myself and others.
Got to keep that one in front of me. I tend to forget it’s there.
Lessons are nice.
Escape can be good.
Taking joy in what I do means telling tales I love and enjoy.
And still I struggle. I guess I want a series that never feels stale. A book like that. A scene like that. I get stuck looking for north too often.
Never fear. I don’t know how to give up at the game.
Let me tell you, I almost wish I could quite sometimes. But then, what’s the point of that?
Oh well. The timer is ringing.
Thanks for reading my rant.