Isn’t it weird how these things evolve?
I started the Parkinkspot as a little bit of therapy, just something that seemed kind of fun to do. I’ve always enjoyed writing, at least back when I was in school I enjoyed it quite a bit.
>insert 30 plus years of “real life” and press the “fast forward” button<
And I still do! Surprise!
Now here we are, Annie and I raised a son, he moved out, I had a stroke…yes really, I was extraordinarily lucky. And here I am, working on my next Hobby. Enjoying the hell out of it. Showing signs of Author pretentions, even. What the Hell Dave?
Well, I guess I’m following a passion, or at least teasing around at one. I’m not sure that I can write anything that’s worth money to somebody. But it sure is fun to nibble around the edges of that idea.
Part of the issue is a full time job, my physical health, my degrading body (versus computer chairs, which tend to make it unhappy, and general wear and tear).
I’m collecting stories for god’s sake, under (I think) a sort of vague notion of self-publishing a collection some day/one day/soonish even? The idea being that even a little trickle of income would encourage me to some day write, I don’t know, can I write novels? Would I still be having fun if I did?
But I find myself, while at work, thinking instead about what I’ll write next. Wishing for the next day off, when I can sit down and write more…those days when I’m happiest. I feel like I am in a rush to get there, though.
Is he delusional? Will this-weeks-hobby pale over time? Is he incapable of writing anything profitable? Is he nothing but another amateur dabbler with big big plans and no talent?
Hell, I don’t know. Guess we’ll find all of that out if we hang around the ParkInkSpot long enough. Stay tuned.
(He writes way more words about himself than anything else, at this point. Shut up, you egotistical narcissist!!)