cannibal magnetism

"Now that I am opened up, let me do the same to you
I can't digest your insides but I can still chew
you look so beautiful, you look so sweet to me
you look so edible, it's time for me to feed..."
-Knife to Meet You, Guts

"I sing for the damned
soulless hand in hand..."
-William Control, Damned

"I am not your friend
I am just a man who knows how it feels..."
-Brand New, Sowing Season (Yeah)

I just don't know how people see me.  I don't even know how I see myself.  I constantly go back and forth between thinking I'm good-looking to thinking I'm ugly.  It goes beyond the skin.  Sometimes I think I'm an ugly soul as well.  And no one understands because they don't see what I see.  They don't know what I know.  I can spot every imperfection on my face and body and mind and I do my best to cover it up with spot spell and sarcasm but I fear if people see me as I see myself, they won't like me.

People tell me I'm attractive.  Smart.  Funny.  And sure, I can come up with a good joke every now and then and I can clean up well when all the elements combine and I'm having a good hair/skin/body day, which is rare.  But most of the time I feel like a mess and it messes with my perceptions of myself.

Another fact that should be pointed out is most of the compliments come from the Internet.  I don't want to negate the positive comments but I wonder how these Internet entities can say such things when I get no interest from anyone in real life.  Where's the disconnect?  Am I different person online?  Am I some inadvertent catfish?  Am I "hooking" people by presenting myself in some falsified manner, some idealized version of a tortured soul, but displaying an uglier, more genuine version of my vexations once the connection gets closer than a tweet or blog post?  If anything, I would have guessed the online viewers would think I'm a freak show based on the things I write about.  I think I'm actually more subdued with my psychosis in real life.

But I guess that goes back to not knowing how I present myself to others, not knowing what they are picking up despite what I'm putting out.

I spoke with a co-worker several weeks ago and told her about some of my insecurities and she said, "Don't you see how everyone here gravitates toward you?"  It was a simple statement but it was also something I never thought much about.  I know I get along well with everyone I work with but I think it mostly has to do with the fact that I don't do drama.  I wouldn't say anything necessarily "gravitates" toward me, sans work girlfriend.  I just don't get caught up in gossip and backstabbing and when I see it coming my way, I do my best to circumvent such scenarios.  People know they can just have a good time with me and a good chat with me and I guess that's a good quality to possess but I just see myself as a reprieve from all the garbage that goes on at work.  I'm a safety spot, a place to stand still among all the whispers and dirty looks.

But so what if I am?  That's still a good thing.  It's still a desirable quality in a co-worker and, yes, even a friend.  Does it really matter why people like me?  It doesn't have to be because I'm the best looking guy in the room or the funniest or smartest.  Maybe dumb jokes and an open ear is enough.  I don't need to change someone's life to be good company.  I need to know and realize that.  I put too much pressure on myself to be this perfect human being, the guy who has it all and knows it all and can fix it all.  I don't have to be everything to everyone and I need to learn that it's okay not to be.

Several months ago, a high school classmate randomly texted me and we filled each other in on what we had been up to.  I told him I didn't do art anymore and he was shocked because he thought I was so good.  I explained that I was good for my tiny town but once I stepped out into the real world, I wasn't as good as I needed to be.  He said he was jealous because I was talented and smart and was friends with everyone.  I told him I thought I was a mess and he said he was shocked to hear it because he thought I was so put together.  And I was shocked to hear that.

Again, I just don't know how people see me.  I can't help but to think of all the things and people I missed out on because I thought I was too hideous to participate.  All the while, they sit around and think I have it all together and never know the depth of my pain.  Kind of tragic to think about.

So I'll try not to.

What is my attraction?  I'll concede that I can provide a decent presence.  With a little photo trickery, I can give a good picture.  I have time to think of a good pun between text messages.  Maybe I'm just attractive enough, just tortured enough to catch someone's eye.  Maybe I'm open enough to provide a voice to the vagrants.  I'm a beacon for the berated, a magnet to those who have been torn down by people, violated by misfortune, killed by the world.  I search the littered bodies and pick them up and cradle them one by one.  My words are tiny visits, palpable connections through a recognition of pain.  It's a safe spot where the blood can be cleaned away for a while, a respite from the ravages of body and circumstance.

I'm not an expert on pain but I think I've felt it for so long and have written about my own struggles to the point where I can convey it in such a way that is accessible and easy to understand.  Suffering is universal, after all.  It's not like I'm tapping into a niche market with my musings.  People can walk in and sit down and take in my madness and appreciate it.  Some stick around and stay for something else.

I think I'm so hard on myself because I have potential I'm not utilizing.  I could have been an amazing artist had I not stopped drawing.  I could have been an amazing writer had I not stopped writing.  I could have been well read had I not stopped reading.  I could have been a good boyfriend had I not stopped trying.  I could have been all these things but I just stopped for one reason or another and now I feel like a waste.  Sure, I could continue drawing and writing and reading but it feels more like starting over rather than picking up where I left off.  I don't have the energy for that.

Despite the pressure I've placed on myself to be perfect, I've made strides toward just accepting that I am not.  I don't know if it's wisdom or old age or just looking in the mirror and giving up but I've grown to realize this is all I am and I can only go so far with my looks and my talent and my personality.  I'll never be a model or find my books in the stores or be the life of the party but I can do my best within my limitations.  I can do my own thing.  I can keep creating.  I can keep striving to be the best person I can be and find acceptance with that because there's no logic in wanting to be something I'll never achieve.

Maybe I just need to try to see what others see.  Maybe I need to try shift my perspectives and trust that I am more than a waste.  The potential can still be tapped.  The progress can still be made.  I can still reach out.  Maybe one day I'll touch someone and it will resonate within them and they'll be better for it.  And maybe I will be too. 

After all, we're all feeding each other energy.  Sometimes it's bad energy but sometimes it's good energy and it's that nourishment that helps us get through the work day or the school lunch or the lonely nights at home.  We take in other people's pain through their art or their pleasure through their laughter.  We use it like medicine and pull it out when needed. 

I've always said I wanted to do that for other people.  I want to help.  I want to make a difference.  I know what it's like to be lonely and weird and different and I want to make someone's loneliness and weirdness and differences easier to digest.  Maybe I already have.  Maybe I've just been looking in the wrong direction.

be my veins

"Love is nothing, nothing, nothing like people say
you gotta pick up the little pieces every day..."
-Liz Phair, Love is Nothing

"For a heart beats the best in a bed beside the one that it loves..."
-Lady Lamb the Beekeeper, Crane Your Neck

For a while, it felt like everyone else was falling in love and I was just falling apart.  It was like some kind of pheromone phenomenon.  Everyone around me was talking and dating, mating and relating, getting engaged and pregnant and coming together.  Normally, I couldn't care less about people and their paramours but when so many people were coming together in such a small amount of time, it threw me for a loop.

And I kind of felt down about it.

I never wanted to be the kind of person who was happy simply because I was in love.  I've said it before and I'll say it again:  you don't need another person to be happy.  I really believe(d) that.  I know my writing and whining about being lonely doesn't always (or ever) reflect that philosophy but even loners get lonely...right?

But what if I'm wrong?  What do I know about love?  I've always thought I had the level head, that my heart wasn't tainted by crushes or heavy feelings and I could dole out decent advice about the topic because I was removed from it.  I could think logically.  But maybe you can only know so much about love from mere observation.  Maybe the best way to know about love is to live it, to love and be loved.

But how do you start to love?  How do you know if you're doing it right?  How does any one of us know?  The heart doesn't come with a handbook.  Love is universal yet it seems the way in which we all come across it and experience it is unique.

And what if happiness, or at least some form of it, does come from love?  If you don't love, are you missing out on happiness?

heterotaxia

"You love, love, love
when you know I can't love
you love, love, love
when you know I can't love you
so I think it's best we both forget
before we dwell on it..."
-Of Monsters and Men, Love Love Love

If someone says they love you but they don't show it, does it really count?

It's like living in poverty with a million dollar bank account no one told you about.  You're rich but you're not rich.  You're blessed but you're not blessed.  You're loved but you're not loved.  

I don't want to say not being in a relationship has been detrimental to my self-worth but I don't think it's helped.  I just keep thinking how I'm 27 and have never connected with anyone on a deep, meaningful level.  And the one time I thought I did, well, it disintegrated and completely changed the way I saw people.  If that strong of a friendship could crumble, there was no hope for me and anyone else.

But stuff happens.  People form relationships and those relationships sometimes end due to any number of circumstances.  And sometimes you're left wallowing in your own cesspool of self-doubt because no one else comes along to help you correct your interpersonal errors.  Sometimes locations and circumstances make it hard to hone in on a partner.  Or even a friend.

There must be some benefit to being told your loved by someone outside your bloodline.  They can be with anyone but they choose to be with you.  They open their hearts to the possibility of pain and see through the marks on your skin and the mistakes in your mind.  Someone out there came to you and decided to stay because you were worth getting to know.  For me, people have come into my life but it's the staying part that seems so difficult.  Do I subconsciously drive people away?  Do they just get tired of my incessant self-deprecation?  Or do they get bored with my personality?

I often feel like a novelty act, a brand new Brannon still in the cellophane and once the protective casing has been cut away and I've been squeezed of jokes and encouragement and conversation, I am discarded.  The newness wears away as the imperfections poke through the shellacked surface that's eventually worn away through long exchanges and lots of laughs and eventual awkward pauses.  Then missed e-mails.  Unanswered text messages.  Phone calls not returned.  There's something about me that hooks people in but once they've penetrated whatever "thing" magnetizes them to me, they realize I am too flawed, too flat, too frail to stick with and they eventually pull out.

I'm not trying to make myself look like a victim.  I know you think I am.  But I'm not.  And I am not blaming anyone who has gone away.  I wouldn't want to put up with someone like myself either!  The novelty becomes a nuisance after a while.  And everyone says they aren't like everyone else.  They'll stick around.  They never do.  Some stay longer than others, but for me, it's just a waiting game.  Classmates never called when class was over.  Co-workers never kept in contact when they found better jobs.  Old roommates haven't written.  It hurts.  It hurts so bad.  But I'm not bitter about it and I don't blame them.  I just take it for what it is: another form of rejection, just a slow kind, a knife plunged inside by inches. 

duck, duck, noose

"I'm sorry for the way I am
I'm tired of waiting for the past
I'm lookin' for a better place
I'm longin' for findin' my way around..."
-Groove Armada, History

I feel like we are living in an age of one-sided relationships.  We as social network users put ourselves out into the world and allow anyone with an Internet connection to get to know us through our words or art or music or favorite movies, etc.  And we never know who's watching, who has taken an interest in us, who forms feelings for us based on mutual love for zombies or writing or puppies or Sweet Brown memes.  We build our personalities through our blogs and Tumblrs and other sites and that creates the potential for trouble.  

The problem with following someone through their social networking sites before you get to actually know them is you've already taken the time to shape who you think they are in your head, forming a one-sided sense of who they are through their words.  And you see these commonalities and connections and when you finally talk to that person, you expect the two of you to click and hit it off right away.  Sometimes it actually happens.  Sometimes it doesn't.  And in the times it doesn't, you feel disappointed.  I've been let down.  I wonder how it didn't work out.  We have so much in common.  We've walked the same paths.  Maybe I'm ugly.  Maybe I try to hard.  Maybe the other person is just looking for a certain type of person to befriend.  Maybe the other person just doesn't have room for one more friend.

I think we've all been through this.  We all know how it feels to follow someone who doesn't know we exist or couldn't care less if they did.  It's definitely disheartening and as painful as it can feel, we shouldn't take it personally. 

I try to remember it's not my fault and it's not the other person's fault.  Sometimes two people just don't connect.  Sometimes you're the one with no interest and sometimes the other person has no interest in you.  I've been on both sides of the situation and both are difficult but at least I can understand when someone does not want to talk to me and I can leave it alone and deal with my issues without pulling the other person into my muddled mind.

Those polar opposite examples sum up my relationships with everyone throughout my life.  It's almost always been one-sided.  Any mutual interests have been superficial friendships or genuine good relationships I eventually wrecked due to my insecurity and selfishness.  But despite these many mishaps, I feel like I've tried to continue to branch out, connect, and make new relationships.  I have not been very successful.

The only problem is when I meet someone new, especially someone I admire or respect as an artist, I over think and over analyze my words and actions.  I want to be cool and smart and easy to talk to.  I want to be funny.  I want to be liked.  And sometimes I think the stress of trying not to show my craziness becomes more trouble than the relationship is worth.  I just don't know how to interact with people in a natural, effortless manner.  I feel like every move and word is calculated and it's exhausting.

The stress makes me want to withdraw.  I don't feel cut out to be a sociable creature.  Nice effort, Bran, but no success.  It messes me up because I don't want to be isolated.  I want to be able to reach out and have someone there.  But am I deserving of it?  Can I handle it?  Have I been mishandling all my relationships and that's why I don't feel fulfilled by any of them?  Or am I just over thinking again?

There is an ebb and flow to every relationship.  I'm not going to be great all the time but I'm just so terrified of losing people that I feel like one awkward moment or social slip would mean the demise of the relationship.  And as lonely as I might feel, the frustration of dealing with forming a fellowship doesn't feel worth the hassle anymore.  Maybe I'm alone for a reason.  Maybe I'm mean to be a loner.  I can talk with people and share and give and take but at the end of the day, all I have is myself, which would be fine if I liked myself, but you've got to like yourself before anyone can like you.  Or some horse crap like that.  I always end up feeling empty.

I walk around this circle of people and inspect and analyze and hone in on those I feel have potential and when I choose, the race is on and they chase me down and knock me over the head with my own insecurities.  But they aren't really doing anything.  I think I'm in control, that I'm choosing carefully, that I don't just let anyone in.  I think I'm being particular in picking these people out but I'm really just picking myself apart.

special

"So one last touch and then you'll go
And we'll pretend that it meant something so much more
But it was vile, and it was cheap
And you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me..."
-The Postal Service, Tiny Vessels 

I keep thinking if I can just make good art, someone will notice.  Someone will appreciate.  Someone will understand.  Someone will care.

I'm always looking to be validated based on a product, not personality.  I'm not too fond of myself so I look to my art in hopes of garnering attention.  Sometimes I think it's easier to dress up my writing rather than my mind.

But even trying to do that feels terrifying because art is an extension of one's self and if my art is rejected, so am I.  I'm not ready to face that kind of pain so I don't finish projects.  They stay in a work-in-progress limbo to hold off the possibility of finishing, then failing.

I want my work to matter.  I want to matter.  And yet I'm scared of finding out neither one does.

If I don't have my work or myself, what do I have left to offer the world?  If I have nothing then I am nothing and if I am nothing, why am I here?

I'm no one's number one and it's disheartening.  I know a lot of people care about me but nothing feels like it runs deep enough to fulfill me.

The majority of us have people who care for us.  But it doesn't make us feel any better.  It doesn't ease the loneliness or the separation.  Why?  I wonder if it's because we only have certain people we've deemed appropriate to assuage the agony.  Maybe some people just don't count because we don't care for them as much as they care for us.

That sounds kiiiind of horrible.

But I think a lot of us feel that way.  Otherwise, any person who came along and offered a friendly hand would fix the frustration.  But we still feel bad.

Maybe it's just more gratifying getting recognition from those we admire.  The problem with that is the people I admire usually don't admire me.  Or sometimes I admire them from afar and make them out to be grander than they really are.  And then I feel inadequate around them, like I'm not good enough, like they couldn't possibly be interested in me.  I'm a fan.  I'm a faraway admirer.  I can't be their friend.

Sometimes they do like me.  Sometimes they don't.  And the ones who don't are the ones I want approval from the most.  A lot of us probably feel that way from time to time.  It's like having a crush.  We want the ones we want to want us.  Unfortunately, we tend to discount the ones we don't want who want us.

It's the way relationships work.  It seems most of them are one-sided.  How many times have we had a crush on someone who wasn't interested or never even noticed us?  It applies not only to romantic endeavors but to all relationships.  We have co-workers who didn't give us the time of day or teachers who wouldn't talk to us or cousins who chose not to play with us.  We meet writers who write us off, girls who gag in our presence, boys who bruise our egos.

Sorry, I'm just not that interested in you.

But I could be a good friend.  Someone you can confide in.  Someone who will make you feel good.

Nah, that's okay.  I have my sights set on something else (i.e., someone better).  

I'm guilty of this myself.  And I've been a victim of it.

We want to feel special and there are people out there who are capable of making us feel special so why don't we let them help us?  Is it superficial like some mental caste system in our minds?  Are we categorizing people, sorting them out, putting them in files in order of importance?  Or is it something deeper, something harder to explain?  How do we get to the root of relationships and what we want out of them?

Do we simply want attention or do we sometimes strive for symbiosis?  Do we want to help them as much as they want to help us?  And do we decline their offer of assistance and discount their support and encouragement because there is no perceived balance?  We can't help them so they cannot help us?  Sure, some would eagerly eat all anyone had to offer without thinking of giving back.  But I also think other people do genuinely want to give as much as they take.

I can't help but wonder if I really want to give as much as I want to believe I do and that's the reason I can't accept the affection of others or if, in reality, I'm just a snob about who I take it from.

Are you special enough to help me?  Am I special enough to deserve it?        

with guitar strings to guide us

I want to make out to some good music.

I just want to make out.

I really just want to make it through knowing I have no one to make out with.

role to play (i'm not even who i thought i was)

"But I wish I could feel it all for you
I wish I could be it all for you
If I could erase the pain
Maybe you'd feel the same..."
-Ellie Goulding, Guns and Horses

"How dare you be you, how dare I be me?
The two of us lost in our own fantasy..."
-Liz Phair, Oh, Bangladesh

Reaching out isn’t working out. At least I can say I tried. But after seeing the results, I think it would have hurt less had I not.

I have a problem with subconsciously assigning people roles in my life.  It's messed up because these people don't know I've done it and they have no responsibility to fulfill those roles but when they don't, I get upset and disappointed and have this internal struggle over whether I should be angry or not.

Of course I shouldn't be angry because it's not their fault but in my irrational mind, I just think how could that person not realize they were supposed to be my mentor/therapist/advice giver/comedian/dinner companion, etc.  It's silly that I do this and I don't even know why I do it and why I can't get it under control.

Going back to The Perks of Being a Wallflower commentary I mentioned in my last post, Emma Watson talked about meeting fans and how scary it can be because they have this expectation of what she should be and she has to fulfill those expectations in the minute or so she interacts with them and it's a lot of pressure and I think that logic applies to people in general, celebrity and non-celebrity alike.  It applies to relationships. 

We get involved with people, be they friends or lovers, and after a while, we pick out certain character traits about them we find beneficial to our lives and we subconsciously expect them to pull out those traits and treat us but people are multi-faceted and we can't expect them to perform for us like that.  Comedians shouldn't be expected to be funny all the time.  Writers shouldn't be expected to turn their to-do list into poetry.  Those who give advice sometimes need advice. 

But we build up expectations and wait for them to be met and sometimes they are and sometimes they are not and we are disappointed and disillusioned and then we judge.

I've noticed this often happens a lot with people I admire from afar for a while and eventually try to contact.  I hear them or see them or read them and construct their personalities from the bits of information they've provided and go into the relationship with a specific idea of who they are.  That's not the best thing to do because, as with any kind of self-representation in any form of media, you are only giving a certain aspect of who you are.  It's hard to be well-rounded when you're the one telling people who you are.  How you see yourself and how other people see you can be different.  At least, I know it is in my case. 

But a full personality comes out in intimate conversations and inside jokes, something you can't convey through canvas and cliffhangers.  I'm not saying you can't get a sense of someone through their art or online presence.  Sure you can.  But as I said, you're only getting pieces.  You're getting a persona but only personal relationships fill in those gaps.  The danger is in those personal relationships not steering in the direction you hope based on the information you have gathered.

I should stop doing this because it's harmful to others and to myself.  I get disappointed and then I disengage and might miss out on a good relationship just because they didn't come to the game with the right gear.  Plus, it's painful.  I don't want to be disappointed and I also don't want to disappoint others.  I'm sorry if I'm not who you thought I was.  I'm not even who I thought I was.  

Let's all just stop having expectations, okay?  No one is ever as good as we hope them to be.  And it's not their fault.  And it's not yours.  It's just a symptom of a swelling heart.          

a couple of perks

I watched The Perks of Being a Wallflower last weekend and it was great and it made me both happy and sad.  I related to Charlie, the main character and an outcast of sorts.  I could not relate to the Charlie who finally found a place he belonged.  But good for him.

I just wondered if there was a story out there about a boy who never found his place.  Where was the tale of the guy who sat at the lunch room table by himself?  Where's the book about the boy who reached the end and found nothing was resolved?  Stories like that don't exist because people don't want a depressing ending.  They need to have hope for the boy because they are the boy and if the boy doesn't make a connection, they fear they won't either and no one wants to consider that could be a reality for them.

So we set him up with some good friends and a crush and he gets kissed and holds hands under the stars and it's book perfect.  And we feel both happy and sad because we don't have that but the boy is us and so if he finds it, so will we.

But some people know better.

In the movie (and book), Charlie writes letters to someone, chronicling a year in his life, but we are never told who he writes.  And it made me want to write letters to anonymous people, too.  What if I selected an address out of the phone book and wrote to this stranger, told him or her what was going on in my life?  What if I sent several strangers these kinds of letters?  What if I followed up every month or two?  "Hi, it's me again.  This is what has happened since the last time I wrote you."  But I'd keep myself anonymous as well.  A letter written from the heart and sent to one stranger from another.

Of course, it could be borderline creepy.

I think there's something kind of romantic and beautiful about reaching out to a complete stranger, making an intimate connection, sharing personal struggles and triumphs through a filter of anonymity.  I like the juxtaposition and the...well, borderline creepiness of it, to be honest.  I just know if someone sent me a random anonymous letter that let me glimpse into their life, I'd be fascinated.  Well, it was a good life with good writing, of course.  I don't need anyone sending me their school schedule or grocery list.

Oh, and I listened to the author/director commentary after I watched the movie and it was almost better than the movie.  He delves deeper into the book and the movie and the characters and how he felt about making the movie and writing the book and all the feels he tried to capture and it was just nice and warm and beautiful and I recommend it.

cacao kapow!

Valentine's Day hit me like Chris Brown in a Bronco.  I'm not talking about just being alone (although that did have a lot to do with it).  I'm talking about the enormous amount of crap I ate.

I won an entire plastic container full of Hershey Kisses from work and then the store gave everyone a box of chocolates and my mom bought two boxes of chocolate for me.  After consuming that much sugar and chocolate and lard and fat and lard and sugar and chocolate and fat and lard and more lard and the occasional coconut cluster that slipped past my security measures (yuck), I felt like total garbage.

It's kind of amazing how you don't realize how bad you stopped feeling until you start feeling bad again.

I always thought I was impervious to sugar, caffeine, Aspartame, vitamins and minerals, love, legally obtained prescription drugs, etc.,  because I can have that stuff and it doesn't make me more energetic or foggy or good or bad.  I've always walked around generally feeling like crap.  So, when I started exercising and eating less greasy, fast food-type items, I didn't feel more energetic or "alive" or better physically or even mentally.

All it took was a near month-long binge of boxed chocolates to make me realize I didn't feel as bad as I believed.  And you might say a month-long binge of chocolates will make anyone feel that way, no matter what condition they started in.  Even the most lethargic sloth would come away from three boxes of cocoa-coated caramels feeling worse.  But that chocolate wasted feeling was how I used to feel all the time before I started dieting and exercising.

I felt bad that I indulged so heavily.  I write these entries about doing well.  I write about moderation and it's okay to cheat every once in a while and you just get up and do better the next time around.  And then I binge.  And it happens to everyone but I still feel like I should be a better example.  I've battled food and my weight and my addiction to food for years and you'd think I'd develop some sort of resistance to the constant cravings.  But, no.  In a lot of ways, I'm no better now than when I was seventeen and bingeing on Doritos and Diet Coke.

I also feel like I'm not as in touch with my body as I should be.  I don't know what's going on inside.  I can't detect the changes in my mood or my middle.  There's a giant disconnection there and I don't know how to harmonize my senses and awareness. 

If anything, I guess this overindulgence was a good lesson.  There might be something to this diet and exercise after all, folks!  Maybe it does make a difference, even if the differences are subtle and fluid and not easily recognized by those who aren't in touch with themselves.    

book notes #13: almost there

Last night, I finished up the second edit of my book.  Let me just say again how surprised I was at how much I could accomplish doing a little bit every day.  I've made more progress in the past two months than I've made in the last 5 or 6.  And that's just because I kept going, didn't take these week-long or month-long breaks.

Now, the plan is to work (every day) on rewriting the book, including all the changes.  Then get a few people to read it just to tell me if it's worth being a book and then, depending on how I feel about the possibility of the book being successful and if I can afford it, I might hire a professional editor.  I'll also need to buy an ISBN if I self-publish or if I decide to go the traditional route, I'll start sending out query letters.

With this lucky 13th update, I think I'm going to stop writing about writing the book.  I've written about it for approximately 4 years now and it's gotten embarrassing.  I've done all this smack talk about it and have built it up to be something grand like it will be this huge, life-changing project when really it's just a collection of all my whiny OD entries.  If you've read one of them, then you've already read my book.

I also ran across this quote by author Isaac Marion that I think is appropriate and good timing regarding my decision to stay mum from now on:

I think most people think of writing as a romantic dalliance that is fun to think about and impressive to talk about, but not a tangible reality that can actually be accomplished. Stop talking about it and do it. Don't waste that coal of desire on idle chatter, passing it around the room for everyone to admire. It will go out. Keep it hidden inside where it can burn and drive you and don't stop blowing on it until you've finished something.

Whew, he called me out on that one, didn't he?  I guess I have a lot more blowing to do.  I just want to be done!  And done I shall be, hopefully in the next two or three months.

Making progress every day.  And I won't stop until I have a book in my hands.  Even if I have to self-publish.  Even if everyone hates it.  Because it's my story and my therapy and I won't feel totally healed until I've totally finished it.