The dream which should have stayed a dream is over. I am repeatedly told by people I am a good story teller, but fate turned a blind eye to talent.
Only two things matter, getting a degree and having the money to publicise your book.
The likes of E L James and the hordes of cheap zombie writers prove my point. I tried for originality and paid the price -- as I expected -- I got ignored while lesser writers thrived by hitting trends and milking a cash cow.
I was going to try to keep the blog running until my payments ran out in October, but I thought "WTH," it's only $30 lost, I'll end it now, and put myself out of further misery.
Not that anyone cares -- which is why I came to the decision -- there is a strong possibility I won't another story, or at least not one for sale.
The dreams of a school boy with imagination, end in the tears of a writer with a broken spirit.