Devastated. Annihilated. Crushed. Demolished. Exhausted. Razed. Ravaged. Ruined. Wasted. Wrecked. Completely overwhelmed.

Today I am a thesaurus of disappointment. I am almost forty and have never had any success in my life. No matter how hard I try personally or professionally, in the end I always end up with this burnt taste of ash in my mouth, and with the marks of someone else’s boot tracks on my face.

For days I waited eagerly to hear back from the editors at Writers of the Future to at least tell me ” Hey guy, nice try, or congratulations come on down…” Instead I end up with no recognition that I even competed and a long list of other writers that did win or at least got that “nice try” moment.

September is here, and like living in Winterfel I can hear the chants of  “winter is coming” in my ears. An entire year has gone by and I accomplished nothing. I didn’t get one story published, never really got paid for anything, wasted my time and my family’s and am now on the very edge of throwing it all away.

And believe me I would throw it all away if I knew where else to go. I am so out of shape that I am not fit for anything but sitting in this chair. My disillusionment about the world is so thick I am chocking on its ether. There is no great egress waiting for me at the end of the canvas tunnel.

Am desperate, sick, and now completely lost…Again.

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