I’ve been in a mood of late. It’s a flat, stale mood with punctuating stabs of blergh. A lot of this has to do with crap in life but a lot of it is really just my brain not wanting to turn over. Like a bad starter in a beat-up car.

Someone I kinda know asked me why I write. Not how or what but why. It’s actually a pretty good question because really, if you want to test your ego, I’d suggest writing a book. Because sometimes the resulting pie-splatter is like a poisoned bukake special at the two-for-one massage parlour.

There are some benefits though. For every really shitty review there is usually a balance, someone telling you they liked XYZ. There are some people I know will be shitty to me. And some who won’t be. It’s kind of a crap shoot but eventually, you soon learn people’s names and then you can say… oh yes… THAT person. Or oooohhh THAT person.

But does that make me a better writer? Reading praise and/or bashing? Not so much. It does lead me into a bad head space….which is so not good when trying to write.

Why… why do I write? Or rather why am I not writing at the moment?

Sometimes it’s the words. Or the scenes. Because sometimes I can totally see a scene and want to capture that. Other times, it’s like staring at a world coated in that chalkboard paint where everything rubs off and I’m left with nothing but powdery crap on my skin.

I will admit, when I started writing…. I had no idea the depth of hatred people have for a book. It’s astonishing. Balance that with the positive of someone really touched by something strung together out of nothing but words.

Guess which one I remember more? Go on. Guess. Take your time. I’ll wait. *grins*

Yeah, the negative but to be fair, too much of the positive can lead to a bit of arrogance no one truly needs. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I think the truth of the matter doesn’t lie in the positive or negative, as much as I dwell on whatever my brain grabs in the moment. Instead, the why of writing pretty much comes down to the story. And what I want to tell.

I’ve forgotten that part of the equation. For all the good, bad and the pressure, I just want to tell a story. I’ve books coming out. Two of them. Kai and Half Moon 2. They’re written. They’re done. I’m going to worry and fret over them like I did Absinthe of Malice and everything that’s come out before that. And everything that will come out afterwards. But when it’s all said and done, it’s whether or not I’ve done my best.

I usually do. I’ve tried and I’ve written the best I could do. At least the best place my mind could take me during that story’s time. And I need to be okay with that. *grins*

I did however make failed quesadillas the other day but that’s not my fault. How was I to know they sent me this vegan cheese that refused to melt and too thick organic tortillas?