I’ve been beating myself up lately in thoughts of continuing the latest blog series I have been crafting. The intention was to make it a ten-parter but I have gotten to five and moving forward isn’t really happening. It doesn’t even have an end and there was more I planned to say but hey, there’s also zero demand so that as they say is that.
There’s more to it than that, though. The story was very personal. It was quite similar in many ways to the latest page in my literal life’s book, albeit colored in large strokes of fiction.
I can’t write about my recent marriage. Not to say I don’t want to and point in case to what I just finished referencing. It’s that I shouldn’t. I disallow myself and it frustrates me but it is, as they say, what it is.
Hate censoring myself. I am very outspoken about a few weighty subjects and I purposefully shy away from tackling them or expressing my thoughts because.. well, I guess I know better?
And so what if there isn’t any current demand on what I have to say. I have much to say. I always will. Hopefully one day people will notice but for now the self-gratification portion of me remains docile. On with the show.
I’m tiptoeing toward the edge of a plank, overhanging a very vast chasm which is raging with deep, swirling levels of intense creativity. Writing the likes this boy has never done. As I leap into it and am swallowed up by spilling my very soul, I hope to never return to this world as I know it. Write boy, write.