A Problem with Writing...

 I identify as a writer. The only difference between myself and other pseudo-identifiers is I actually write. I write, therefore I am. I'm not a famous or even well-known writer. Well, at least not yet. I'm working on it. However, for the past few years I'll admit that working on it has become a very slow process. I still had my day job so that's my most legitimate excuse. But it's not really as good as it sounds since I wrote my first novel while I was working, and I did it within a year. I'd rise about four a.m. everyday, write for a couple of hours and then trudge off to work. So, actually having a day job is no excuse, as proven by none other than myself. Writing a novel is a very gratifying experience. A genuine accomplishment, that I'm very proud of. While sales haven't exactly brought me vast riches many have told me it was a fantastic story. I started my second novel shortly after finishing the first one, still excited about the experience. I worked hard on it for a couple of years. Unknowingly, I had begun an endeavor that I didn't have a clue what I was in for. The first book was a story of two lifelong friends who found themselves at turning points in their lives and went on vacation together. In an idyllic setting they find themselves accidentally embroiled in international chicanery with the global balance of power on the line. Though the characters were based on real people with similar experiences, it was all fiction. Every word straight from the imagination.  The second novel is what I call historical fiction. It is set in a specific period in time in a specific place and many of the characters are real, well-known figures in American history. There had to be a certain level of accuracy regarding those people and those places. The amount of time spent on research turned out to be quite a surprise. The other pressures of life I suppose often won out over time spent researching. For many of those times when I did sit down to write I felt like I had a terminal case of writer's block. So for a few years my story gathered dust. 

Then came retirement. Suddenly I had more time to write. Or so I thought. It's really amazing how many things one has put off and must attend to when they have the time. I guess I had a lot of them that had been stacking up for a long time. I guess that also means that I'm one helluva procrastinator. But I'm getting the deck cleared now and beginning to see daylight. I think I can safely say that I'm only a few months away from publishing. 

Since the time I began writing my first novel over ten years ago I started this blog. Not really writing about anything in particular, though I do like being a wannabe political analyst. Charles Krauthammer was one of the best and serves as my worthy hero. My blog, though wanders through a lot of varied topics. However, in the last couple of years my blog audience has grown. A lot. I can't really explain the reason for this but I'm flattered and grateful. I like sharing stories, ideas and my humble opinions with others and I'm very appreciative of all my readers. A huge surprise for me though is the diversity of my readers. As the count climbs into the tens of thousands, I have readers literally all over the world. Hong Kong, Singapore, India, China, Russia, UK, France, Spain, Ireland, Sweden, and others. Many others. I never imagined this, ever. But I am humbled and grateful. I hope that you find something that's entertaining, informative and funny at times. If you have the time and the inclination post your own take on some of the topics. Agree, disagree, comment, criticize, praise, it's all welcome. Tell your friends and pass on the link. In the meantime I'll try and finish my book. 

#politicalanalysis. #writing#writersblock