Write for big money!

He is trying to distract me with rock and roll while I struggle to make money writing. Or even sense.

October 11, 2015

When a tooth hurts everything else seems less important. My niece’s son Jackson likes to play guitar. I took a picture of him and me.

I had started writing about my experiences with racism directed against Natives, but then it got boring. I was ready to quit. I decided to dig more deeply, but then, no. Sometimes writing is a huge drag, even when I have this compulsion. Things are mixed up. People are not sufficiently sympathetic when I tell them I worked 40 hours. But, but, I’m retired! I can see their looks. They change the subject. I’ve lost my audience.

No, I’ll think about something else. Got a darkroom to fix up. Framing studs are in place, electrical outlet boxes have been located. Friday I bought 100 feet of number 12, two-conductor, interior, sheathed wire. Perfect for fixing about eight electrical plug-ins, two overhead lights, three light switches. I’m thinking about using an old wooden table I got from the alley for one of the work surfaces, and a piece of kitchen counter for another.

Tomorrow I start another 40-hour week. Tomorrow night, the first meeting of a writing group. Of course, I don’t know what to think. I hope many people will join a writing group and tell me stories, coherent stories, well-told. I want to know what will “get me there.”