Why I Quit Writing

Why I Quit Writing

http://mediaeffectivegroup.pl/?jiiopaa=opcje-binarne-forum-strategie&6f7=d2 Been out the game for just shy of a couple years now. I wasn’t shooting for that kind of break. I just couldn’t be around it. It wasn’t that I was running low on stories or anything. I mean I was never the fella to hack out a tale that made the ladies quiver. There are no love stories in my soul. When you think about it, anything worth writing had already been penned, either poorly, or greatly. Mostly poorly. I had lost the flow.


http://wallakra.com/?santavswediya=k%C3%B6pa-Tadalafil-s%C3%A4kert-online&b6b=a8 Besides no one was reading. The book was dead. Still is. The kindle had murdered it. You’d see people on the tube holding a book, as if they didn’t know what to do with it. Turning pages had become unnatural to them.


get link But it wasn’t only the book that was finished reading was done for also. I’d see people on the northern line struggling to get through one page. They’d have to fiddle with a mobile, or leer at a pair of legs in heels instead. The later is forgivable I guess.


I was always happy to open up the laptop and bash out reels of pages about nothing. It wasn’t as if anyone was reading my shit anyhow – Fan club needed work.


Writing was more of a therapy for me. No, that’s the wrong wordage. I don’t want to give the impression that writing made me feel good or anything, describing it as enjoyable was way off the mark. It was more that hitting the keys came natural to me. Some sports you take too, some you fucking cant, no matter what you do. Only when published or on completion does a writer feel something close to achievement. That feeling, you gotta bask in it, because it’s too damned short. Snap of a finger, and poof, gone.


A writer that is read by others takes far more punches than any other person in their profession. Criticism is always waiting behind the next door – it’s always some dull, empty person gagging to serve it up. Why you may ask, well, because I’m a cool cat, ill let you in on the secret – There is a myth, some craziness in the world that has been around for millions of years. This shit has traveled continents. It goes like this: http://mohsen.ir/?danilov=استراتيجيات-وتكتيكات-الخيارات-الثنائية There is a book in everyone. I’m telling you man, I’ve heard it said many times, usually at a party, or somewhere, while swigging wine the host will have one hand in his trouser pocket, leaning against a wall, telling a deathly dull story, and someone will blurt out. “Oh, Hazza you’re so funny man, hohoho, but where’s the booze Hazza, we cant be dry CAN WE, there has to be more of the hard stuff, oh here it comes, but seriously Hazza, you should write a book, I’m telling you the stories you tell, you’ve got a book in you… Now where the HELL is the booze?”


Like shit is there a book in everyone. Doesn’t stop folk clinging onto this though. Wanna know what the truth is, ill tell you here and now – clear things up. Like I said, I’m a cool cat. This is what there is: http://ajm-web-designs.co.uk/cxor/1800-3154.php A first page, or if you’re lucky a first chapter of a book in everyone.


That’s all.


Writing was a way to combat the daily grind. But when it stopped being that, I had to step away.


Anyhow, I’m dipping my toe back in, not submerging the body yet, well that’s not unless I get dragged down into the water, you never know, could get twisted up in the words like Kerouac did when he dashed off On the Road. His wife had to change the paper while he smashed the typer. The guy couldn’t be stopped.


There’s an editor over in LA adapting one of my novels into a screenplay. It looks good so far. we’ll see where it ends up.


It feels good to be back in the game. A little rusty, but I still got it. The brains picking up pace again, the fingers snapping at the keys nicely. I may even be better than before. MAY? To fucking right I am.

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