The hardest thing about keeping a blog is the creation of content on a regular basis. There is a real pressure there to write, write, write.
This is the hard part – trying to think of something interesting to say, something to inspire a click or a read or a visit from some random stranger on the endless byways of the internet between YouTube clips and pornography.
Truth be told, I have no fucking idea.
My last blog talking about bullying seemed to strike a cord with people, so is that what I should focus on – my miserable, fucked up life at the end of some piece of shit’s boot?
Instead, I will inform you all of my new SCI-FI, YA novel I’m working on called Threshold and how this damn thing is slowly killing me. I’m over 50,000 words in and a big, fat ugly wall known as Writer’s Block decided to settle itself between me and my creative self.
Slowly, very slowly, I’ve been working through it – chiseling through the bedrock like
Andy Dufresne did his cell wall in Shawshank Redemption. I’ve crawled through the shit, just like him, and appear to be on the way out of the tunnel – I see before me the light of the story’s conclusion, and now push forward with renewed vigor.
The end draws nigh.
I’m shooting for 80 to 85,000 words and believe I can get there soon if the story continues to flow better.
I want to finish the book, this first draft, within the next month or two. After that, I will start shopping around for an agent and from there, make my millions of dollars.
And so it goes.