2022

Not an auspicious beginning to the new year. Carli's Kills is still in progress towards a first draft, but I'm at a point where I have absolutely no idea how this will turn out. My original screenplay is barely visible in the book adaptation. Except for Zeke and Carli. The others keep shifting shapes and positions and I just know I'm going to turn out a piece of shit. Meaningless twaddle that thinks it's earth-shattering. Gag.

My initial intention was to write a book with a strong female character who uses men for sex and relies on herself for everything else...something fun for a read by the pool or on the beach. But it's turning into a story about abandonment, both physical and emotional, and the weight of it is growing in my limited brain. Why? WHY?!?!?!

A Place of Safety is waiting for me to get over myself with CK and get the damn thing done so I can return to it. At the rate I'm going, I'll be lucky if I get this book written by the time I reach Betty White's age. If. No guarantees on that.

A dozen other stories are standing in line waiting their turn to make my life miserable and magnificent. I suppose that's the lot of a writer. Unfortunately, I have very little self-discipline. Maybe I'll try drinking to see if that gives me focus enough.

I do wonder, sometimes, if I'm dyslexic or have ADD. Looking back, I can see a decades long path of projects started and never finished because I lost all interest in them or felt like I couldn't do them perfectly, so why bother kind of crap. It's not something new, at least. It's just more obvious, now that I'm older.

And more than a little paranoid, what with my body out of warranty and beginning to be problematic.