The twent-year project I spoke of earlier is twenty years old because life got in the way. Girlfriends, college, partying, girlfriends, another college, more partying, a couple more girlfriends, a trip over the summer to California, jobs, bills, another girlfriend, more jobs, more bills, getting engaged to yet another girlfriend, getting married, moving, having a kid, getting a job that pays good but I hate, quitting that job when I hurt myself, and now, NOW I finally take the time to write something every day.
I was going to let your reply to my post go, because of it being so many days between times, but I happened to check back just now, and your most recent entry seemed a little maudlin, maybe melancholy, and gave me the feeling that you might not write anymore. Books, stories, a freaking shopping list. Anything to keep it greased. I am 38. I don't know how old you are, but if I had stuck to it back when I was 19, I might have been published and rich, lo, these many years. People might be talking about my fantasy novels on these boards, and I might have RPG credits under my belt, I might be the graphic novelist that I've dreamed of being. Comic-book artist. Songwriter. Illustrator. If I just hadn't let life get me.
I don't regret any of the things I listed in this rant, except for one. I let it go. Don't let this be your only effort, unless what you've done so far is satisfying. Then you can quit.
I don't mean to be so didactic, but it kills me to think that I might have helped someone avoid my mistakes and didn't speak.
-Steve