“Watchmage” Novel Update

I was planning for a May release of the novelized version of The Watchmage of Old New York. That isn’t going to happen. My editor is working very diligently on it, as is my cover artist. Neither will be ready for a while.

I’m ok with that. I’d rather put out something late, but of higher quality, than something rushed and faulty.

In the mean time, I’m working on the sequels, and some short stories for an anthology.

The short stories are affecting me. I have professional level stories going back fifteen years, and many have been published in magazines or journals. That’s great, but to me they are examples of how far I’ve come since those first trembling words. They take me back to a place I once was, but will never be again. Once I was full of hope. I thought that by now I’d have a major publishing deal and would be a true success. Instead, I let my madness overwhelm me. Writing has become less a dream and more a necessity. Writing keeps me alive, and it’s the closest I get to “happy.”

I am miserable by nature, and that is not going to change. I’ve found that I can’t even talk about my past anymore without triggering depression and/or anxiety. My anxiety is getting worse. I’m not a success. I’m a writer trying not to die.

Yeah, I know that I’m bitching and moaning. I also know that if you don’t have bipolar syndrome, any comment you make about “sucking it up” is ignorant and presumptuous. Live in these shoes. See how they fit. Take my meds and suffer the side effects. Suffer the twitches and ticks. Suffer the failing endocrine system. Enjoy living on a disability check, not because you don’t work, but because without Medicare, you are dead. I dare you.

Yet I still manage to work part-time. I still manage to scape out a living. People say that if you’re on disability, you’re lazy and sponge off the government and honest tax payers. Be thankful that you don’t have to.

By the way, I receive 800 dollars a month from disability, and 150 dollars from food stamps. Can you live on 950 a month? In one of the richest counties in the world (my rent for a studio apt is 1150? And be trapped here because you are so entrenched in the system? Try it. I dare you.

Or shut up. They both work.

This post took an ugly turn. Here’s a meme to make you happy.

cosmic-cat tripping balls postcard

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