Sometimes I Feel Like Dumping It All

Today I am in the grip of a nearly debilitating melancholy, probably created by excessively dwelling upon the responses from readers of yesterday's blog entry. My former feeling of inadequacy, my unsureness as to my ability to function as an imaginative and original writer of fiction has progressed from a vague feeling of doubt to increasing depths of despair. I can no longer blame a lack of perspicacity on the part of the readers of my stories, and must instead face the fact that I, not they, am the actual cause of this ongoing confusion. The meanings within my imaginative writing is not too esoteric, as I previously thought, but instead stem from the stories' not being properly presented, not being understandable enough.

In other words . . . I am a failure.

A failure (one who fails) has three alternatives, as I see it: to continue failing; to change to more conventional methods of communication and settle for the second-best results; or to simply abandon all futile future efforts in the field of fiction-writing.

Or, perhaps I might alter my thinking somewhat... if that be indeed possible.

I must look up the definition of quandary.


"Oh Good Grief!"

"Stop this foolishness."

"Just get on with it."

__________

Can't Think Of A Clever Title

There was no blog entry yesterday because I used that time to work on my novel.

Yes (almost unbelievably) I accomplished something in that area, in that space of time, something that I truly feel was worth the effort, something that will be of lasting worth, something that gave me pleasure in its creation -- and it has the potential to give others who will someday read the novel a measure of that same enjoyment... I think.

. . .

A friend and fellow (aging) writer is apparently suffering from the malicious malady that eventually strikes us all -- the 'woe is me' syndrome, the 'my life is nearly over and I am a failure' refrain of outrage and regret. It seems that he has fallen prey to that familiar insult to vanity known as 'Oh, poor poor me'.

Nothing can be said by those of us who have suffered this blight on our souls that will lighten his load. He will come through it and will eventually prevail -- or not.

. . .

Below are displayed 2 pics of JoAnn's plant.

and

During her two-week absence, I have been watering it and rolling up the blinds to allow the Arizona sun to shine upon her tiny flower each day, as I promised I would do.

. . .

Just a few minutes ago I was informed that Martin Van Buren was the first President Of The United States of America who was born a U.S. citizen.

(Very) interesting.


So now I'm off to my Novel pages . . .