It Feels Like I'm Writing For The Last Time...

It's never easy to remain quiet. My mind might race.

You can sneak up behind me and rummage through my endeavours.

I'll change the password. I'll shield the screen.

Two Factor authentication. You'll never infiltrate my dreams.

The question is and remains what though have you achieved?

Is a measurement of success a University Education?

Is it a successful marriage?

Curried goat and perfectly cooked rice?

Is it 150 pages or 116637 words?

Consider it again, what have you achieved? 

What though have you achieved?

Locked away from the world. Locked in a vacancy.

John Hughes always says everything so much better than I ever could.

What though is it that you've achieved?

A lasting legacy. A family secret recipe.

Focus on the task. 

Concentrate on the carton.

For only if it's orange juice. Extra Pulp Extra Pulp, pulp fiction... read all about it.

So, I've had time to complete the first draft. I'm on to the second.

Editing. 

Editing.

Editing.
Editing.

Not much to report without giving away all the details.

The details remain the story and the story doth remain my own.

I may be cutting my nose off to launch into space. 

Audience interaction and claps from Ricki Lake.

I can subdue my intentions for all too long. 

The goal remains the same the novel I must publish. 

I've done my best not to follow other writers and instead write for myself. 

I've said that before. I've said that before.

I feel like I repeat myself. Do I have nothing better to share.

I'm adding things in, up around the bend. 

I did read 'Supermarket' by Bobby Hall aka Logic.

Not bad. Somewhat predictable. Good structure though.

I'm revisiting 'To Kill A Mockingbird.' It's almost too good!

There are so many characters in my story. Too many characters? 

As yet, I'm not confused. 

Is Dylan far too fickle or is it just his age? I think its him and that's enough said. 

Is he agreeable? He probably wouldn't care anyway.

Scraps of paper, reminders, suggestions......everywhere. 

Every live long day.

It's like a glimpse at madness. 

My mind here in reality for a moment then back in the written setting. 

Are the conversations I'm having, the ones I include in the story or is this becoming my life?

Writing is such a lonely encounter. 

I slip into loss each and every day.

I find my fuel in debauchery.

In stimulation brought forth by selfishness.

Massage my ego. Massage it. Harder. Harder. Harder.

Any spark of imagination, emotion or deviance is mine. 

I want to consume it all.

It hits me as if time is running out. Do I know something?

Destiny? I control this though right?

As if I want to taste that which I long for but must deny. 

It's painful this life. 

These thoughts. 

The distractions that I place unto myself.

I often think I'm writing honestly, then I fear the mundane. 

Having read this, do I want my character to be written in the same voice?

Am I doing my utmost to make him sound too real? 

I think I worry too much. 

I think too much for sure. I think.

Perhaps I need to re-think that.

I need to get this finished. 

How long has it been? 

Well, the story is finished, it's the editing.

The reading. The re-reading - the development of characters. 

I want to have and include all pop references, all fiction. All truth. All confusion. All darkness.

Introspection. Conversation. Stimulation. Masturbation. Alienation. 

Add a melancholic piano riff and call me Citizen Cope.

If only I could cope.

I become frustrated with inspiration. 

It hits me all the while.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

I'm confused by my own direction. 

I'm losing all the time.

I mean that in the sense of ticking, the time sweeps by and goodbye. Buy low, sell high.

Mortgage rates and enough money set aside in case the probation period is not a success. 

Why would it not be? Because.....

Because Neil, you may be confused but soon you'll be free.

It's hard to read my name or say it aloud.

 It's harder still to understand why I'm referring to myself in the third person.

It was never my intention to have this rhyme. It's simply a result of living.

I have another two realistic novels being started. Again, I must completely finish this one first.

Then I can embark on a new adventure. Perhaps save me from myself.

I'm looking at agents and publishers. Doing some research.

Buying the artists book 2019 and all that.

Arguably beyond the correct route. 

I just need to finish. 

Finish, 

Finnish, 

Vanish.

Then I can send it out to the ones that show an interest. APR, investment and acid reflux.

What now, if no one responds. Well sleep now in the fire!

I'm still writing every second I can. 

Keep the words doth flowing. Poems...word....excel..... everything.

Gotta keep moving, for this is where the people eat.

I want it all. Let me have it all.

Good times for a change. Not my line. See, someone has always said it better. 

This is clearly my cry for help. 

It's like I've hit my lunacy. 

Sexual politics. Hand written mixed CD's and songs by Billy Bragg.

I'm tired of being safe. 

If you ever consider yourself too comfortable.... 

Grab it by the crunchy lapels and shake the bath water out of it.

Can you really wait to be saved or must you save yourself?

Until Next Time...

I hope to be on the third re-write. I'll defo be on the third draft.

Do Good Things.