I can quite happily talk openly about my past. Well most of it. The bad times as well as the good. There is no bitterness. No feeling sorry for myself. I'm not looking for sympathy. Some people in this so called civilised world have it really tough. Let us save our compassion for them.
I no longer feel the need to apologise for the way things were once upon another lifetime. It's my life, and that is just the way things panned out. I did, as you know if you have read this blog for a while, act badly enough to get into real trouble with the law. I took my punishment without complaint. I'm not unintelligent. I know that it was myself to blame. I had free choice, and I took the wrong road a few times. I was an intelligent idiot.
|Writing my best selling book.|
You may have noticed that I used the words, fairly open, fairly honest. That's because I did find some things too painful to talk about. In this book I'm writing though, I am being brutally honest. I am writing of bad things that happened in my childhood. Some real bad things. Some real bad people.
For some people this best seller might not be an easy book to read. I'm pretty certain that it will stir a few emotions though. If it ever gets published that is. Who knows? It is early days.
I will not be going down the self publishing route. I couldn't afford that, and anyway I would want it to stand or fall on it's own merits. I need to write a synopsis and get it sent off to some publishers. Funnily enough, I can write a book, but when it comes to writing a synopsis I'm stuck. Weird.
Based on the average novel length, by my reckoning it is about halfway written. Not bad going, considering that I haven't really applied myself to it these last two weeks.