I Shouldn't Make Promises

Perhaps it was never a promise, but updating a story once a week seemed like a realistic goal only last month.

Now, it's stressing me out. And really, why should it? There's no one relying on me to put out these stories. It's just a personal goal. Maybe I want to have enough of them to comprise a book by the end of the year. That might be something. But really, it's just the practice of writing. Keeping it up. Documenting this part of my life before I'm forced away by the fall of the adult industry, or by a lucky break in my attempts to capitalize off something else.

To be honest, I HAVE been writing a story this past week. But it's that story I said I couldn't share for the time-being. Still, I wanted to get it out of me before the details left my mind. So it's locked up in my hard-drive until that rainy day I... don't know.

But here's something new. Tomorrow, I leave Los Angeles for several days to visit my father in his new home. He recently escaped California to live in "the middle of nowhere," Idaho.

I'm told it looks like this:



Which is slightly less creepy than this:



So we'll see what happens. At least I'll have a chance to get out of this fuckin' city.