Okay. So, I made it back online. However, I’ve discovered that writing fantasy fiction novels just doesn’t have the appeal it used to have. I find it to be a great deal of work and very little interest.
I don’t know if this is a phase or what. I have found a new interest in sharing my real life with you. I have, even, started a book on the subject. It’s loosely based on my life. Still fiction, I’m afraid.
How do you write about your life without writing about the people in your life?
Yes. There are a few people in my life. I have three adult children and a significant other. There are four or five people I sometimes associate with, also.
None of these people want to be written about. They don’t want anyone to be able to guess that it’s them either.
I don’t know what I’m going to do.
I write. I write about myself and my life. I used to write fantasy fiction, but I’m tired of hearing about my need to face reality and how fantasy is of the devil.
To be honest, I’m just tired of fighting. I’ve had to fight about writing fantasy, about writing at all, and every other damned thing that gives me pleasure.
I, seriously, think the people around me want me to be miserable. I think my misery brings them some kind of satisfaction or pleasure.
It’s like, if I am happy, they feel like their place in my life is threatened. I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong. I hope I am.
Until next time,