I vaguely remember this (the photo on the left). Or, maybe I don’t and I’m only trying to make myself believe I do. Because I want to. Desperately. I want to just go back in time to this moment and stay there. Never move forward. I want to spend the entire however many years God intended to give me, sitting there next to my bunny watching cartoons (what else would I be watching that intensely at that age?).
I bought two lunch boxes from eBay recently. Because every time I’d be in a flea market and I’d see one of the lunch boxes from the 80s, the nostalgia would, literally, bring me to tears. It got to where I’d go to flea markets just to seek one out.
The Cabbage Patch Kids one is my favorite – it evokes the deepest nostalgia.
Anyway, the whole point of this post is…well, there isn’t one, really. I’m just struggling, and thought this might be therapeutic.
I write under several different pseudonyms, all different genres, but this one always feels like home. I wish I could finish STELLA, but that project hasn’t been coming along well. I stopped writing it to write a book in contemporary fiction. It was a story that my heart needed to tell.
Update 3-10-2020 : Actually, that was a lie. And I knew it was a lie when I typed it. It wasn’t a story I needed to tell – it was one I hoped would help give me some much-needed income. I’m tired of writing shit for a paycheck (and not getting a paycheck) – I wish the stories I’m most passionate about writing could keep me afloat financially. I’m not gonna lie – anymore – that it really pisses me off that the one book I wrote one day “just because”, in a genre that was just a phase for me, is the only genre anyone seems remotely interested in reading from me.
I’m also tired of forcing myself to write books my heart isn’t into at all.
I have to stop it.
I’m going to stop it.