I do not have an excuse. I have the time and the ideas but truly no motivation. It is not that I do not enjoy writing, I do. It seems that special thing inside of me has been slowly dying over the the last ten or so years. I can remember back to my childhood and still think of my dreams of being a writer. ( To be honest I also wanted to be a singer and a MD. I should state that I did not want to be a singing doctor but one or the other as that would be weird.) I think some of my issues stem of the belief that I could not succeed in a career doing what I love and a little that English is my worst subject so I would never do well as a writer.
However, these are all self imposed restraints and let's be more realistic. I am far to socially awkward and introverted to do well in any traditional career. Also, I would like to point out that in my early years some of my desire to be a famous writer might have been slightly influenced by the idea that fans would send me copious amounts of awesome gifts and letter thus making everyday like Christmas morning.
Keeping with my need for honesty I should say that I still hope that everyday will be like Christmas morning. Is that really so bad?
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