Work Goals for 2007:
1. Get a 2-book publishing deal. (preferably 3)
2. Invest the book advance in real estate.
3. Write my second book.
4. Complete my first screenplay.
Personal Goals:
1. Not be scared to love. Open up to my feelings.
2. Build a happy, healthy relationship.
3. Build friendships based on fun and maturity not co-dependence.
4. Build family relationships based on equality instead of parental roles.
5. Continue therapy.
Travel Goals:
1. Go to Austria.
2. Go to Croatia.
3. Go to Peru.
Longterm Goals:
1. Be a bestselling author and screenwriter.
2. Get paid to write and travel.
3. Have kids. (and a loving husband...if possible...)
4. Get involved in microfinance in developing countries.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
To all the writers out there (even tho no one reads this but me)
from a column on salon.com:
Of course, like many other writers, I hate myself. I just fucking hate myself. I hate my writing. I hate my writing. I hate my writing. I hate my fucking voice in my head. I hate all the voices in my head. I wish for nothing so much as silence and contentment, but I have to keep talking because I believe if I keep talking I stay alive. If I stop talking, I die. That's how it is. So I hate my fucking self, but I can't stop talking and I can't stop writing and I can't stop these fucking voices from rehashing funerals from my childhood and visions of Christmas dinners, because I think if it stops I'm a dead man. It's all in there all the time hashing itself out. It's a life form. Language is a life form. Language, speech, imagination, it's a parasitic life form that burrows in and takes over.
And of course when I look at what I've written, I hate it. It's a bunch of fucking garbage! So what's new? Am I the only fucking writer who hates himself and hates his writing? Hell no. It's a sport. It's a national anthem. It's a way of life.
It's our way of life.
Of course, like many other writers, I hate myself. I just fucking hate myself. I hate my writing. I hate my writing. I hate my writing. I hate my fucking voice in my head. I hate all the voices in my head. I wish for nothing so much as silence and contentment, but I have to keep talking because I believe if I keep talking I stay alive. If I stop talking, I die. That's how it is. So I hate my fucking self, but I can't stop talking and I can't stop writing and I can't stop these fucking voices from rehashing funerals from my childhood and visions of Christmas dinners, because I think if it stops I'm a dead man. It's all in there all the time hashing itself out. It's a life form. Language is a life form. Language, speech, imagination, it's a parasitic life form that burrows in and takes over.
And of course when I look at what I've written, I hate it. It's a bunch of fucking garbage! So what's new? Am I the only fucking writer who hates himself and hates his writing? Hell no. It's a sport. It's a national anthem. It's a way of life.
It's our way of life.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
2007
It's a New Year.
It's gonna be good.
That familliar sense of adrenaline-pumped risk taking is coursing thru my veins,
this time with a crystal clear sense of calm.
i'm comin to getcha world,
and we're gonna catch in midair for a slow spin.
All will be well.
I'm less scared every day, and that's the best feeling I've ever felt.
It's gonna be good.
That familliar sense of adrenaline-pumped risk taking is coursing thru my veins,
this time with a crystal clear sense of calm.
i'm comin to getcha world,
and we're gonna catch in midair for a slow spin.
All will be well.
I'm less scared every day, and that's the best feeling I've ever felt.
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