Success has a simple formula: do your best, and people may like it. -- Sam Ewing

Despite mulching at Gram’s for two days, I’ve been on this Robin of Sherwood marathon, the BBC series that was on tv in the ‘80s. The DVD version was a graduation present that I am very much enjoying. I still sob like a school girl during “The Greatest Enemy.”

I did a writing exercise yesterday and realized something important. I took this time off in order to write, to try and make that a career. But I’m not taking myself seriously enough. It’s like, since I’m home all day, I should be able to do this, that, and the other thing. The writing suffers because I don’t sit my ass in a chair and do it. That has to change. But no one ever said working from home was easy. I guess I’m exploring what works for me. So far, I’m fucking off and messing with the farm, which needs attention too since its also part of my self-employment plot, plan, whatever.

Oh, I don’t know. All I want to do is tell stories. Why does it seem like some days the whole world and everything in it is stacked against that? I really try to be a positive person and make a difference in the corner of the world I live in, but sometimes it’s more difficult than others. The global problems just seem overwhelming. The odds seem stacked against the unconventional person trying to make a living in this world. It’s great to enjoy the little things in life, but they don’t put food on the table.

Sorry for being so negative. I promise to try and shake it off by the next entry.

And here comes the rain on the windows. A perfect day to stay in and write.