The Manic/Depressive Side of Writing
The good, the bad, and the ugly do battle in my writer’s brain — often all at the same time.
IN THE BEGINNING, THERE WAS ME
I’ve been writing since I was old enough to form a complete sentence and get those words on paper. At the tender age of eight, I self-published a family newsletter that I passed out to my parents and siblings. As I recall, it met with lukewarm approval and a pat on the head.
I have kept a journal for sanity’s sake throughout my life.
In my twenties, I tried my hand at writing a romance novel. I shopped it to every publishing house I could find — and I have the rejection slips to prove it.
I have written many (hundreds) articles — sold some, wished I had never written others, mulled over the surprising lack of enthusiasm that greeted still more of them.
I’ve blogged, published eBooks, attempted to enter the romance novel industry, added my opinions to review sites and scribbled my thoughts into countless notebooks now buried in boxes or mercifully put out of my misery.
I guess you could say I’ve been around the writing block.
I am not famous — hell, I’m not even a footnote in anyone’s review of the good, better, best writers of obscurity.
No one knows me.
