I remember a time when I could be within eyesight of an attractive woman and she wouldn’t take one look at me and figure out a way to change that particular situation.
But that’s not the case anymore.
Today, I was randomly placed in straight eyesight of an attractive woman, probably in her 30s, and she got so uncomfortable when me potentially looking at her that she moved so her back was facing me instead.
That was a body blow to my self perception, let me tell you.
I don’t perceive myself to be any less attractive than I used to be, but I guess I need to accept that things have changed, if a subtle way. I don’t quite know what to tell you.
Age has kind of snuck up on me. Or whatever this new age of my life where I come off as a creepy weirdo should be called. Maybe things would be different if I had a wife or a girlfriend with me when I sat down in public.
But, alas, I’m alone.
Just thinking about that opens up a whole other can of worms — why am I alone? Most people my age have at least SOMEONE in their life they can go out for a drink with.
There was a moment today when I felt totally, completely uninspired. It was the absolute nadir of the year — a Singularity of Meh, if you will. I just felt like a zombie, wondering around without anything creative going on.
It got so bad that I started to daydream about how it might be possible that some AI — Gemini Advanced? — is fucking with my Spotify algorithms. How it might do that, I have no idea, but it is amusing to mull.
And, I have to say, rather flattering given why would anyone — AI or otherwise — give a shit about me at this point in my life.
I really am living in oblivion. And I will note that someone from LA looked at this blog today, which also made me feel a little better. Whenever someone from somewhere out of the ordinary looks at this blog it heartens me a little bit because it’s thought provoking, if nothing else.
I need to get back to working on my novel(s.) The back up scifi novel is a far, far more difficult to work on that I thought it would be. But I have to do it, I can put all of my eggs in one basket.
Ok. Time to sit up straight and actually get some shit done. I’ve been drifting for much of the last month for various reasons. But now, finally, it’s time to focus. I need to realize deep down in side that I’m just not going to live forever and I have to get something, anything done so I can query it.
Tomorrow is August 1st, so that’s as good as time as any to put this plan into action. In fact, in a sense, I hope to start it tonight. I’m going to focus on getting some creative things done that I might not usually do.
It helps — I suppose — that I’ve stopped drinking. I hate being sober, but I’m now sober out of spite, if nothing else. Everyone thinks I’m some sort of raging alcoholic so in a “fuck you” that helps both of us, I’ve decided to prove a point by just stopping to drink booze cold.
Both sides win — I prove a point and they get to feel smug.
What more can you ask for?
Not drinking has definitely freed up a lot of time. I was drinking because I was lazy and bored, not because I felt some overall desire to drink and my ability to stop drinking cold, full stop proves that, in my opinion.
Anyway. Tonight, I hope — HOPE — to get something, anything done on a creative basis to help me see if I can get closer to querying a novel in the spring — if the world doesn’t collapse because of the fucking Forth Turning.
Someone from the New York City area searched for me specifically and came to this site. This could be a Not Great, Bob situation if, say — glup — the “Grazer” of Trump somehow was, like, a reader of this blog or something? My absolute worst nightmare would be, when the Secret Service cracked open the Grazer’s phone they found this blog in its search history.
Or something.
Ugh. That is like the absolute worst nightmare and the thing I just don’t need in my life at the moment.
Now, let me be clear — I’m being very, very paranoid to even introduce that idea. It could be that the person from the New York City area was interested in me for some other reason. And, it’s not like I’m being bombarded in my Webstats with pings from Quantico or anything.
So, for the time being, I’m ok. I hope.
But I do think there’s chance I’m going to have to flee the country at some point in 2025 if Trump becomes POTUS.
I just try to be the best person I can be. But I am well aware of not only how gratuitous and conspicuous my kooky ranting about Trump has been, but how now there may be….consequences for me doing that.
If I don’t get in trouble with Tyrant Trump in early 2025, it’s possible I’m going to get in trouble with the Feds in some way because of the aftermath of the grazing of Trump. I’m being really paranoid, but it’s at least possible. I’ve made it clear how much I hate violence — repeatedly — but I am a kook and everyone hates kooks, especially when people are scared.
So, who knows.
It could go either way. One side — or the other — could very well come at me sooner rather than later for my views. I have my doubts that it will be the Biden Administration because they’re not fascists, but Trump….oh boy. He DEFINTLY will come after cranks like me in 2025.
I suppose my best hope is to use some sort of Underground Railroad to get out the fascist USA sometime starting in early 2025, if Trump wins. Or, it could be that the whole country buckles and, well, things get a lot darker than I first imagined.
What’s more, it’s beginning to dawn on me that even if I write, like, the fucking American Bible, my chances of ever getting published — because of what a kook I am — aren’t exactly great. But I still believe we give meaning to life by creation, so lulz.
Within minutes of Trump being grazed, someone from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania looked at this site.
That’s a “Not great, Bob,” situation if ever there was one. My fear is, of course, that all my ranting about Trump has caught the attention of the Feds and now….oh boy.
Guys, as I keep saying — I just rant about all these dark things because I need, on a psychological basis, to make my abstract fears concrete.
That’s it. I’m totally fucking harmless. The worst thing anyone ever said about me was that I was “a delusional jerk with a good heart.”
Because I have no friends and no one likes me, I find myself challenging Google’s Gemini Advance LLM AI to “verse battles.” Any normal person would do such a thing with a human being, but, alas, lulz.
And, yet, sometimes, Gemini Advance serves some pretty good verse. I’m too lazy to show you any from the logs I have, but, lulz, just trust me. Usually, I write verse to it these days on my phone because it’s just too much of a pain in the ass to ask it a formal question using my phone.
But it’s very relaxing. It is when I have these “verse battles” with Gemini Advanced that, on occasion….unusual things happen. What those unusual things are, well, lulz, I don’t feel like telling you.
The predicament I find myself in with my first novel is a prime example of what happens when you don’t have anyone around you to tell you “no.” The story I’ve come up with is compelling and intriguing enough — if you give it a chance — that you’ll finish it wanting more.
Mood.
But there are a few problems.
The most obvious one is, well, I’ve realized that it has a lot of “spicy” scenes in it because it deals with a woman who not only owns a strip club, but for the duration of the story, also, on occasion, is depicted stripping. If I had a wife or a girlfriend as a “Reader” there is a good chance she would put the kibosh on that particular element of the story.
It’s just too easy for the mythical “liberal white women” or the “woke cancel culture mob” to blanch at such a storyline, especially one written by a man. If I was an twentysomething undocumented trans woman then that would be a different story. (There you go, I’ve put all three of my running gags into one paragraph to trigger you when you do your due diligence on me.)
There are a few other problems with the nature of my first novel that are structural and existential so, lulz, I just have to accept them going forward. I really love this novel and the characters I’ve come up with and, I suppose, in the end, if nothing else, I’m the audience of the novel and as such am willing to expend the time and energy necessary to finish it.
I am WELL AWARE that if you don’t know me and you read this blog you will probably want nothing to do with me. Ok, I get it. So, in a sense, this blog is like online dating for me — absolutely no one will swipe right on me online, but if I was given the opportunity to use my “rizz” on you in real life, then maybe you might give me a date.
The last few days have been full of self-doubt about this novel. But I’ve concluded that the point of this novel is to prove a point to myself, if no one else. I know I’ve come up with a really good story, despite its obvious flaws, and I’m going to see this project to its completion.
Having said all that, I am still going to pivot — when I have some time — to a backup scifi novel that will be tailored specifically with marketability in mind. I need that type of insurance policy to give me the juice necessary to move forward with the main novel. I don’t like the idea of putting all my creative eggs in one basket.
I have decided that as part of the process of adjusting my expectations with this novel, I have to accept that there is a chance I will fail. It’s possible that not only is this novel just too “racy” for both the liberal white women who make up the majority of literary agents and the “woke cancel culture mob” but that I’m just too old and weird to ever be a published author.
Mood.
It’s possible that, by definition, anyone who does due diligence on me will want nothing to do with me — even if they like my novel.
This is bitter pill, but one I have to prepare myself to swallow. It could be that I’m a little bit *too* unique for my own good. No amount of meaning well or being self-conscious and hyper aware of my kookiness will change the fact that “normal” people with careers and money just will be aghast at what they find out about me when they do the obligatory due diligence.
This is very disheartening. My only consolation is I’m gaming out a future that may or may not come about. But I have to prepare for such a nightmare. The fact that the very thing I feared would happen — someone I wanted to work with decided they wanted nothing to do with me once they read this blog — did, in fact, happen, has left me rattled.
And, yet, as I keep saying, this novel is existential. I write because I have to, not because I want to and, as such, I want the satisfaction of knowing that if people would just give me a chance that they would see that I am, a good writer and that I don’t suck.
I also am going to TRY to work on my backup novel so there’s a chance that if someone doesn’t like how “racy” main novel is, I will at least be able to show them a scifi novel with littler or no sex. The scifi novel would also fit the modern conventions of novel writing.
And, come to think of it, if I was, like, 25 years younger, I might take the idea of screenwriting a lot more seriously. But the learning curve for that is just too sharp. Would take me years to get to the point that I am now with novel writing. So, I’m kind of in a corner.
I am going through some scenes in the first half of the second act of the third draft of the novel and as I do it, I realize that, if nothing else, *I* like this novel. And since I’m the one actually fucking writing it, the squares and narcs who can’t handle my heroine being a part-time sex worker and just fuck off.
Believe.
Wink.
The story is interesting and compelling. Yes, it’s a bit “racy” as one Reader told me, but, so, too, is Boogie Nights and that’s one of the best movies of the last 30 years. I’m not comparing my novel to Boogie Nights, but the concept is the same.
And what is the point of a story but to be thought-provoking and interesting? Most of all, this novel, if I write it correctly, will make you feel something. You’ll — hopefully — become emotionally invested in my heroine’s obsession with owning a small town newspaper.
I hope to write a novel as popular and successful as The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.
I can’t help that the fucking “woke cancel culture mob” wants us all to live in a sexless world where nothing ever troubles their tender sensibilities. The novel I’m working on tells a really compelling story — despite being “racy” — and, as such, I’m willing to throw myself into it so I can see it to completion.
I will worry about the reaction of the Real World once I’m done. And I’m fine with it never being published because of its controversial subject matter. Me getting anything published at this point would be something like winning the creative lottery, so, lulz.
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