Another evening spent in solitude as I type these words, sitting inside a one-story, four-room rental house and watching my hopes and dreams slowly dying (wishing I could follow them into the grave more often than not). Too many of the things I write and post here are negative and depressing, probably ruining my image to those that actually come here, read this crap and don't know me personally. I wish far too often to have never been born in the first place, probably as often as wishing to die ASAP in some quick and relatively painless manner. I dwell on the past mistakes I can do nothing to change because I see no future for myself in this fallen rotten world. Most people I know cannot stand to be around me due to my personality. I drive friends away and they never bother to call on me when they are in the neighborhood. I suppose I cannot blame them for avoiding me.
Possibly having the mental disorder of Asperger's Syndrome (not yet diagnosed), I have always found it hard to befriend people in general and women toward whom I felt romantic feelings in particular. I am advised to overcome my particular disabilities by others, but cannot make lemonade out of lemons. Even the one "bright" spot on the horizon possibly saving me from economic oblivion - getting another cleaning job - will ultimately prove unsatisfying in the long run. It will be another low wage drudgery job I want to escape because I have never been used to hard physical toil and because I cannot forget the ambition to write fiction that has gotten me almost nowhere professionally. There is no hope for me on this Earth, apart from the Divine and God seems content to leave me in the hole I occupy rather than bless my dreams with successful accomplishment. I don't know what He wants me to do any longer. I'd thought it was the writing career, but apparently I'm not doing that right. I keep making one blunder after another - just like in a real life fraught with one social mistake after another.
I don't see 2013 or any year beyond getting any better for me. I hope I'm wrong about that limited vision of the future. I hope God will punish my enemies in this world while I'm expected to love them by His command. I dread the possibility of becoming another homeless statistic after next month once unable to afford the rent to this small dwelling. One major commercial success with a novel could change all that, the professional equivalent of winning the lottery, but being an unlucky SOB (not that I believe in luck) it would sooner happen to someone else far more deserving. I expect to receive a form letter rejection during the next few weeks from Ace Books regarding my August query about Sister Helena of the Sword. Even though I self-published that in August, I still tried selling them on the idea of picking up the title for commercial publication (even though it has failed to sell more than a few copies, even after I improved the cover as best I could with my limited artistry skills) and giving it better cover artwork and better promotional distribution. Nothing I have ever written has been the breakthrough needed for success in this fickle business.
I look at the latest personal photograph posted atop the main home page here and realize I almost resemble actor Ethan Suplee from the TV sit-com My Name is Earl. I am obviously at that miserable middle life age (44) when no single woman who has never been married and looks above average will ever show any interest in a loser like me. Of course when in my 20s I was equally unattractive (mainly due to weighing 50 - 100 pounds more than now), so the golden years when I should've married and started a family of my own were not so opportune in hindsight. I know exactly what I'm looking for in the opposite sex (having described it in some detail on this page in the past only to be mocked and ridiculed for such specifics by unfriendly trolls that read it for amusement - it was a post called "Black is the color of my True Love's hair") but unless I have the opportunity to meet and impress such a female that I'm good marriage material, I'm cursed to this solitary life. I'm not a good catch as famous eligible bachelors are sometimes called. I have no steady job and even if I did it probably wouldn't pay enough to support a family. I cannot realize my dream ambitions in a career that few if any evern become successful doing. I lament missing out on doing the things others I know did in terms of matrimony and family with normal lives, not existing on the edge of madness and poverty as I do now. But at least now I know the reason (Asperger's Syndrome) for my inability to become what I wanted at any point in my adult life - my personal Failure to Launch (I hate that movie, sight unseen, because it stars the terrible Matthew Mcconaughey).
I had planned to revamp this site or replace it with somthing called The Many Worlds of John X. Grey, especially since The Anti-Celebrity label has not been very good a brand for any writer's public image. I picked that label originally as part of my desire to give off a tiny bit of swagger - spitting in the face of America's bizarre celebrity worshiping obsessed modern popular culture. Of course in practice I couldn't get noticed or taken seriously as a professional author even if I literally caught fire and burned to death. I'm no good at shameless self-promotion or any other kind, my mind clearly filled with delusions of grandeur as I labor here in obscurity unable to sell more than a mere handful of novels. The Many Worlds of John X. Grey may never happen now. The Homelessness of John X. Grey is a more likely real-life scenario in 2013.
To my enemies, I forgive you for all the evils done to me in a lifetime, but God will judge your injuries inflicted upon my soul. To my friends, I understand why you all don't bother to write, call or contact me in any other manner. I don't matter or rate the attention and have probably burned down more bridges than most with careless abandon. If this is my last post, and it has been a rambling one, and I am dead soon enough, at least my great inner mortal suffering will be over.
Possibly having the mental disorder of Asperger's Syndrome (not yet diagnosed), I have always found it hard to befriend people in general and women toward whom I felt romantic feelings in particular. I am advised to overcome my particular disabilities by others, but cannot make lemonade out of lemons. Even the one "bright" spot on the horizon possibly saving me from economic oblivion - getting another cleaning job - will ultimately prove unsatisfying in the long run. It will be another low wage drudgery job I want to escape because I have never been used to hard physical toil and because I cannot forget the ambition to write fiction that has gotten me almost nowhere professionally. There is no hope for me on this Earth, apart from the Divine and God seems content to leave me in the hole I occupy rather than bless my dreams with successful accomplishment. I don't know what He wants me to do any longer. I'd thought it was the writing career, but apparently I'm not doing that right. I keep making one blunder after another - just like in a real life fraught with one social mistake after another.
I don't see 2013 or any year beyond getting any better for me. I hope I'm wrong about that limited vision of the future. I hope God will punish my enemies in this world while I'm expected to love them by His command. I dread the possibility of becoming another homeless statistic after next month once unable to afford the rent to this small dwelling. One major commercial success with a novel could change all that, the professional equivalent of winning the lottery, but being an unlucky SOB (not that I believe in luck) it would sooner happen to someone else far more deserving. I expect to receive a form letter rejection during the next few weeks from Ace Books regarding my August query about Sister Helena of the Sword. Even though I self-published that in August, I still tried selling them on the idea of picking up the title for commercial publication (even though it has failed to sell more than a few copies, even after I improved the cover as best I could with my limited artistry skills) and giving it better cover artwork and better promotional distribution. Nothing I have ever written has been the breakthrough needed for success in this fickle business.
I look at the latest personal photograph posted atop the main home page here and realize I almost resemble actor Ethan Suplee from the TV sit-com My Name is Earl. I am obviously at that miserable middle life age (44) when no single woman who has never been married and looks above average will ever show any interest in a loser like me. Of course when in my 20s I was equally unattractive (mainly due to weighing 50 - 100 pounds more than now), so the golden years when I should've married and started a family of my own were not so opportune in hindsight. I know exactly what I'm looking for in the opposite sex (having described it in some detail on this page in the past only to be mocked and ridiculed for such specifics by unfriendly trolls that read it for amusement - it was a post called "Black is the color of my True Love's hair") but unless I have the opportunity to meet and impress such a female that I'm good marriage material, I'm cursed to this solitary life. I'm not a good catch as famous eligible bachelors are sometimes called. I have no steady job and even if I did it probably wouldn't pay enough to support a family. I cannot realize my dream ambitions in a career that few if any evern become successful doing. I lament missing out on doing the things others I know did in terms of matrimony and family with normal lives, not existing on the edge of madness and poverty as I do now. But at least now I know the reason (Asperger's Syndrome) for my inability to become what I wanted at any point in my adult life - my personal Failure to Launch (I hate that movie, sight unseen, because it stars the terrible Matthew Mcconaughey).
I had planned to revamp this site or replace it with somthing called The Many Worlds of John X. Grey, especially since The Anti-Celebrity label has not been very good a brand for any writer's public image. I picked that label originally as part of my desire to give off a tiny bit of swagger - spitting in the face of America's bizarre celebrity worshiping obsessed modern popular culture. Of course in practice I couldn't get noticed or taken seriously as a professional author even if I literally caught fire and burned to death. I'm no good at shameless self-promotion or any other kind, my mind clearly filled with delusions of grandeur as I labor here in obscurity unable to sell more than a mere handful of novels. The Many Worlds of John X. Grey may never happen now. The Homelessness of John X. Grey is a more likely real-life scenario in 2013.
To my enemies, I forgive you for all the evils done to me in a lifetime, but God will judge your injuries inflicted upon my soul. To my friends, I understand why you all don't bother to write, call or contact me in any other manner. I don't matter or rate the attention and have probably burned down more bridges than most with careless abandon. If this is my last post, and it has been a rambling one, and I am dead soon enough, at least my great inner mortal suffering will be over.