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Seven years. I’ve been plugging away at this blog for seven years and, for the most part, it’s been fruitless. Sure, it’s brought some work my way over the years – briefly, even a full time gig – but the law of diminishing returns kicked in a long time ago. I guess I just kept hoping I could power through it and eventually land on something that sticks. But I don’t think that’s ever going to happen.

Mostly, this site has been a collection of angry, snark-filled essays on any number of subjects from politics to religion, on down to just stupid stuff that annoyed me on Facebook. People like that sort of thing, but I can’t always be angry. Eventually, it becomes a schtick, and then I’m just going through the motions and writing stupid crap I don’t care about because it’s the only thing anyone ever clicks on.

To date, my most popular post has been about how much I hate ridiculous baby headbands. The absurdity of which pretty much sums up both what people respond to as well as my ineffectiveness as a writer, I think.

Recently, I tried a return to parent blogging, but nobody really cared. Then, I dipped my toes into the icy waters of fiction, and was met with an equally chilly response. Finally, I decided to completely change tack and give silly stories of my lifetime of poor decisions a try. Neither the first post nor the second one drew much attention. I even asked if anyone was enjoying the series or thought I should continue, and received a response of deafening silence. Even someone as oblivious to the intricacies of interpersonal relationships as I am can pick up on what that particular signal means.

So I think I’m done. Game over. I’m out of Continues and down to my last few quarters, and I’d rather not waste them here in this failing arcade.

Of course, this could all just be Depression talking, but it’s got a very loud voice and I can’t ignore it anymore. The harsh truth is that nothing has come of this blog in the past seven years. To continue working on it while clinging to a vague hope that it will suddenly amount to anything over the next seven is just…stupid.

Not that I’m wholly ungrateful or anything. Writing it has helped me through some tough times, so it hasn’t all been for nothing. Part of it even helped me meet my wife and stepson, both of whom rescued me from the depths of misogyny and madness into which I was falling – which really should have been enough. I should have gone out with the win and quit while I was ahead, as Brittany and Trey remain the only parts of my life worth protecting and investing in.

For example, time I spend fretting over the various nouns and verbs I stitch together here is time not spent fretting over where next month’s mortgage payment is coming from while I’m busy being laid off and not working. I’m certainly not providing for them with all the money I don’t make from writing.

It’s also emotionally exhausting. How can I hope to write myself out of Depression when every time I publish something no one cares about, I do more damage to my already cracked and fragile ego than simply not writing anything would’ve?

Every post I write is a bit of myself I’ve excised from some part of my own soul and shaped into words. Every time I press the Publish button, I hope that someone out there will read and like whatever piece of me I’ve cut out to show them. It’s a terrifying, painful process, and the real catch is that the only time the wounds heal is when people actually respond to whatever it is I’ve written. Most of the time, they don’t.

And I’m running out of soul.

I renewed my domain and hosting plan for the year a few months ago, which should keep the lights on until next April. So if there’s anything you desperately want to read, you have some time before the site goes offline.

Well, I guess that’s it, then. Thanks for listening to me crywhine. I hope you’ve enjoyed today’s pity party as much as I haven’t.

Have a good one, Internet.*

*The miserable sentiments expressed in this post are subject to change if and when the pendulum of my mood swings back into the less defeatist areas of my subconscious. But for the time being, I’m taking my toys and going home. Like a great big whiny baby.

Want some books? 'Course ya do!

NOTE:  I know times are hard and yeah, I need to make a living too, but if you want to read any of my books but can't afford to buy them right now, hit me up.

I'll take care of it.

Humor | Nonfiction
Available now from the following retailers

Have you ever lived through an experience that was so humiliating that you wanted to die, but when you tell it to all your friends, they can't stop laughing?

Have you ever made a decision that seemed like a good idea at the time, but you're still living with the hilarious consequences years later?

If so, then grab a snack, get comfortable, and prepare to have all of your own poor life choices seem just a little bit more bearable.

You're welcome.

Short Stories
Available now from the following retailers

The nine stories of rage and sadness collected here range from the most intimate of human experiences to the wildest realms of magic and fantasy. The first story is a violent gut-punch to the soul, and the rest of them just hit harder from there.

Those who tough it out will find a book filled with as much hope as despair, a constant contradiction pulling you from one extreme to another.

Life might knock us down, over and over, and will the beat the ever-loving snot out of us from the time we're old enough to give it attitude until the day we finally let it win and stop getting up.

Always get back up.

Gaming | Nonfiction
Available now from the following retailers

This isn't just a book. It's a portal to other worlds where there be magic and dragons and hilarious pirates. Okay, not really. But this book is about those portals, except they're called video games.

The Life Bytes series of books take a deep dive into one man's personal journey through childhood into kinda/sorta being a responsible, competent adult as told through the magical lens of whatever video games he was playing at the time.

Part One starts way back in 1975 and meanders down various digital pathways until, oh, around about 1993 or so.

If you're feeling nostalgic for the early days of gaming or if you just want to understand why the gamer in your life loves this hobby so much, take a seat in your favorite comfy chair and crack this bad boy open.

I'll try to not be boring.

Horror
Available now from the following retailers

What you are about to read is not a story. There is no beginning, middle, or end.

What follows is nothing more than a series of journal entries involving shadow people, sleep paralysis, and crippling fear. It’s not pretty, it doesn’t follow story logic, and nothing works out well in the end.

You've been warned.