I have packed up and put the stories away. I am completely demoralised and cannot hold my self to my plans.

Failure is not as terrifying as seeing my life going down the plug hole while I bore myself and everyone else with what I am trying to do.

None of this is free. Everything costs. Everything has it’s price. Writing is the worst job I ever took on and the price I paid unwittingly was I isolated myself accidentally. At time like this when I am bewildered by what I am doing and wondering why I am bothering I notice this isolation acutely. Even my online writer’s life has changed enormously the last few years.

Now it doesn’t matter how much I could get these stories done or when – all I see are the years I haven’t lived or breathed or stayed fit and I no longer belong in the worlds I inhabited much less want to write about them.

I committed to doing a Blog post each week back last summer but only on this web site not my other two. (Which should have been taken off line – but I’m doubtful that is so) I’m rescinding – this is my last post on any blog because it is not ‘Hell Yes!’

It’s not even about engagement or lack of it. I am sick to death of floundering and the last few weeks have been utterly pointless.

So I have packed up and put away. Again.

If I get struck by enthusiasm, answers or what ever I’ll re boot.