Read on Twitter
Mandated quarantine has lead me down a path of complete submersion in creativity.
I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate being contained to my house and front and back yard.
I fucking hate the parts of my brain I wake up when I sit down at a page.
I fucking hate it.
I fucking hate being contained to my house and front and back yard.
I fucking hate the parts of my brain I wake up when I sit down at a page.
I write things outside of Twitter, I just don’t share them.
Ironically I took a job in numbers and complex mechanical design and installation, I’m good at it too, and it’s fucking peaceful.
But I keep going back to this time in my life when I submitted a short story
Ironically I took a job in numbers and complex mechanical design and installation, I’m good at it too, and it’s fucking peaceful.
But I keep going back to this time in my life when I submitted a short story
And it was rejected. Frankly it sucked snd deserved to be rejected.
I’m more than a little competent in my chosen profession, but upon reflection I sucked at it too when I started.
Writing would have been no different, it’s a skill that needs development, a muscle to be trained
I’m more than a little competent in my chosen profession, but upon reflection I sucked at it too when I started.
Writing would have been no different, it’s a skill that needs development, a muscle to be trained
I can see it in the evolution of my tweets. I can measure it in the response people have had to them.
Like everything I share on this account I didn’t start with a point to be made, but I guess I have one now.
Like everything I share on this account I didn’t start with a point to be made, but I guess I have one now.
Don’t let anyone convince you your first failure defines the vector of your passion.
Don’t give up. When I was rejected I was in no way mature enough to handle rejection.
I’m happy doing what I’m good at, but I wonder where I’d be doing what I love.
Don’t give up. When I was rejected I was in no way mature enough to handle rejection.
I’m happy doing what I’m good at, but I wonder where I’d be doing what I love.
This thread brought to you by the poorly arranged gobbledygook section of my brain, but it’s looking like another sleepless night, so 
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