Becoming a Writer

Let’s face it.  Or rather, I have to.  I am a man, or rather a an adult child in isolation.

So… what else can I effectively do but put my dreams and daydreams into fiction writing.

So… I would become a writer in the process.  And probably certainly a bad one, at that, having no experience in…anything.  Aimless wandering, blahda, blahda.  An expert in empty conversation prose, I make a horrible writer.

So… that’s the downside in all this: I know nothing.  It’s the first step in wisdom — first, say to yourself, I know nothing.  But unfortunately, I still know nothing.

The upside?  I’m deleting this blog.  Reasons?

1) I hate it;
2) I hate it;
3) you, the audience hate it (and should); and
4) it was hastily created with a bad name.  No one likes libertarians.  And I’m an independent.  (No representation of anything whatsoever, of this accumulation of “posts”—145, to count.  No representation, at least, in consistency.)

The new blog (yes, creating another) will be private.  Maybe, someday, I’ll unlock it…

I’ve been writing a novel.  Novella?  23,000 words so far.  Far from the best thing ever written.

Well, have a nice Fourth of July.  The End.


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