Ah, the joys of...something or other...

I realized long ago that I never had the push it takes to make it in film. You need to be something of an egotistical asshole in order to get past the gatekeepers, or have the kind of mind that knows how to work without them. And that just never was me.

I aligned myself with people who didn't have it, either, but seemed better purposed to the industry. And caught on too late how wrong-headed I'd been. From the beginning.

If I'd really wanted to make it in film as a director, I should have just moved out to LA and worked in the industry, once I'd graduated high school. I could have joined with Roger Corman and learned more about making movies than any school could teach me. But I was too unfocused to see that.

Instead, I toodled along, hoping everything would come together...with minimal effort on my part. Which of course it wouldn't have. But I still fucked myself over...and fucked some friends over, too...and achieved very little. Some mention on IMDb. Woo-hoo!

Now I'm off to myself, writing stories that fit a niche market and sell okay. Not as well as I'd like, but well enough. And despite my ranting and raving and exclamations of turmoil and pain, I'd found a lot more peace doing this. A lot more understanding of myself.

Building my gay erotica helped me build the complexity of APoS. Writing BA is helping me prepare to dive into DW, again. They've brought me my voice, and shown me I can do damned good work, no matter what. I now see every project is like an onion needing to be peeled back, layer by layer, and that is my way of making the story as good as it can be.

So I bitch and moan and weep and wail...and keep digging and digging and getting better at it, with every book. As an extra bonus, it helps me face my own demons...and maybe that's reason enough to keep going.