The Waiting is the Hardest Part

Okay, it’s been two weeks here and there’s some assessments that need to be made at the halfway point of this experiment and I see it’s pretty clear. I’m blogging to my fucking self! That’s okay, just two more weeks of this and I’ll probably scrap the entire idea. I see no one following, I see no one making a comment, good or bad, hell, I don’t see any hits on the blog whatsoever. So hello me it’s me again, I have a mouth, I’m screaming and nobody hears me because no one bothers to look into my writing; fair enough, world. Stemming from my rant yesterday, this blog was supposed to help support my books but obviously it’s not good enough, so I’m at my wits end. It’s pretty much the point now where I’m almost daring someone to make any type of statement just to get the attention. I’m a bit of a lighter bug, maybe setting fire to something will get your attention? Anything with blood and violence in it must get your attention. Maybe a naked woman will peak interests, even though it has nothing to do with what I write, or maybe what’s missing is something shiny on the top of this blog, like a coin or pendulum so possibly I can hypnotize you all.

Okay, seriously, aside of money, what the fuck am I supposed to do here? Although I don’t know how far suggestions may go but it’s getting to the point that I’m open to anything. Even, somehow, getting my stories into independent film around here in Michigan. I’m even getting to the point of buying copies of them and leaving them in really strange places. That’s a better idea than waiting at my desk for someone to snag a copy online.

And I’ve gone as so far as not talking about sports, which tends to be a bit juvenile. Trying to make this a literary blog, or at least a journal in observing what is around me in hopes that others gain common sense and the ability to rationalize.

This day’s blog is short as I grow weary. Come to my own personal wonderland, damn it, and read what I have to say. Who knows, maybe you’ll all get lucky and there’ll be a new poem, prose, or even an excerpt tomorrow or later today, we just don’t know.

H.R. Green, 22nd of October, 2009, 1:29 a.m. Burtchville, MI