My 10-Year War Resumes

More jagging here!

While I certainly don’t care for most running-related movies (OK, I don’t care for any running-related movies), there is one scene from Without Limits that remains with me to this day.

Like, gag, I know, right?

And no, it’s not the scene where Pre competes against the almighty Finns or qualifies for the Olympics or, like, whatever else he does. Nope. It’s where he won’t let the kid beat him.

Yea, you remember that scene now don’t you?

The whole stupid point is that Pre doesn’t let anyone beat him. Perhaps because he’s a douche or maybe because he just takes winning that seriously. We’ll never know which it is, but I sure hope it’s the latter.

Which is why I fancy myself the Prefontaine of writing. All blood and guts and glory. Take-no-names writing, folks. I yield to no one. I write for me and me alone. Want me to change my style? Yea, no. This is war. This is Sparta.

HA!

Not really, but my point is that this post is my (as usual) long way of saying that I’m in my slog. Or, perhaps, that I’m very, very much in my slog (at the moment). Like, two years into my 10-year writer-turned-hopeful-author (without the MFA) apprenticeship slog.

I’m writing term papers for college kids (sans adopting a different linguistic style, obvi.) and blogs for businesses and working 64-hours in a four-day week and loving it.

Yes. I’m loving it.

Like a fat kid loves all-day breakfast!!!

So, why bother stating all of the above? Well, my blog is going to getting sloppier and grammatically worse before it gets better, which means I might as well apologize to you, dear reader, as well as ask for your encouragement as I continue toward my goal of publication.

Or, you know, whatever else happens along the way.

‘Preciate it, bruh. Truly.

Fur-realz-tho