It's been a long time since my last post. So much has been going on in our house that it's been difficult to find the time and inspiration to sit down at my keyboard. That's the funny thing about writing, it does the soul good to release the demons haunting you by writing them on paper or in a blog, but when you're so emotionally drained that the thought of typing or writing anything personal sounds like torture, you just go to bed at the end of the day or watch another 15 minutes of the Today show before heading to work in the morning.
It's a vicious cycle. The less you write, the less you feel like a writer. And the less you feel like a writer the more you find ways to knock yourself down and pick apart your failures.
This weekend I cleaned the office in an attempt to create a work environment. I went through the four drawer file cabinet in the room and began throwing away old stories and random ideas I wrote down 5, 10, even 15 years ago. Where has all of the time gone? I looked at many of the slips of paper that had fully realized novels or movie plots on them and thought, "If I only had time."
Music has become a source of escape, once again, and I find myself thinking a lot of the 90s, particularly the years following our marriage and before the kids were born. When I was compiling and editing the Basement Songs book, I was alarmed that there was a gap in those seven years. Perhaps it's time to go back to that era and write about that time period.
After Basement Songs was completed, I thought that perhaps it would gain miraculous word of mouth and sell like hotcakes. Boy, was I delusional. The hard part of self-publishing is being a salesman. This is something I'm terrible at doing. For those of you who bought the book, and all of you who've supported me, I'll try to do better.