I don’t really know what my goals are other than to write. I need to write, I need to write. I’m one of those kinds of people that wrap my identity in my function like many men.
I am not Kennel Master.
I am not a person.
I am a function of my own choice. Thus I am a writer.
I have a blog because I thought it would be a way to connect to my fellow writers. I’m doing a poor job of it, If anything I’ve become far more distant. I’m starting to wonder if I’m wrong about how I’ve been handling writing. I want it to be social I want it to be a connection but at the end of the day I can’t really engage with my fellow writers as much or how I would like.
I want to write. In five years, I want people to give me money regularly because they love the stories I weave for them. In ten years, I want to write a story that I can feel content with sharing as a physical book.
I’ve gotten to the point that I’m looking at my weakness as a writer and a person. I’m mentally isolated and while I’m independent in my day to day living. I like comrades in shared interest.
2020. This is the year I set myself, If I don’t see progress I’ll find other interests because I failed at this one. I will put everything into this even if it means driving away people.
I’m tired but I’m going to keep going. I’m no one else but a writer so I wanna bring a few more smiles or erections to people while I figure this shit out.