Ambulance Masters
Page 8
I SHOULD quit writing. What am I doing? What have I just done? No one’s going to buy that last scene. Someone’s going to agree. They’ll say, “He said it himself. He’s terrible. I don’t understand any of it! Someone should put him out of his misery. He’s so old anyway. I paid money for this?”
And then I’ll get my feelings hurt, like with that review some no-name wrote about The Zombie Hunter’s Bible. They wanted to burn it. How could I have made someone feel that way? I’m nice. I care about babies. How could I have made a complete stranger turn so hateful? I’m a monster. He didn’t like the chapter on how to make your penis bigger. Said I was insulting him. Said I was calling his prick small.
He was also angered on the How to Eat a Zombie chapter. Said it was unrealistic. You can’t eat a zombie.
I feel dreadful. I’m a monster for angering him—a complete stranger.
Maybe I should have made it into a serious book, like how that famous one is so serious. People respect you more if you write serious works. Because that’s life…to them. Life to them is serious and dramatic. They understand it. You have to work hard and struggle to succeed, they tell me.
I’m 66-something pages into this book and I’m having second thoughts. I want to trash it.
I care too much about what people think.
I shouldn’t care so much about what people think. Because I like this. Don’t I?
I shouldn’t care so much about what people think.
I SHOULD care about what people think. I’m not writing solely for myself! I care about others. I want to entertain them. People are good. There are good people in the world.
I can’t tell a story. Maybe I should take classes. Be more normal. Relate to people more in telling stories….No. I can do this….Just finish this. Accomplish something. Your life means more than just folding clothes….I want to take up drinking again. It relaxes me. It feels good. Maybe throw in a little marijuana, too.
No! You wasted two whole years doing that! Two unproductive years that flew by quicker that shit through a goose!
I should stop writing and complaining and maybe take up voice acting for cartoons. I’ve been thinking about that more and more while folding clothes. My feet hurt at night. I don’t want to walk home at four in the morning for two hours anymore.
It wouldn’t be a problem if I knew how to drive.
I wish I was rich so I could paint all day.
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