DAVID'S PLACE:

I am just another guy sitting in my kitchen chair trying to figure out how to become a successful author. I just read David Baldacci's autobiography who is the best selling author and he made writing seem so easy. He made it sound like just telling an interesting story to a friend was the trick. I am a 75 year old male who is retired and disinterested in almost everything I have been doing lately besides talking to my family of kids and grandkids. Writing seems like the one way I can justify an admittedly indulged existence only because of the good fortune of a well endowed family and some lucky business success. Otherwise, I feel very empty sitting out here in Florida far away from my roots in Chicago. I never saw the point in going to school so I en1ded up graduating last in my class in both grade school and high school then got kicked out of 3 colleges and inducted into the army at the height of the Vietnam war. Being scared to death of actually being sent to fight I fooled the ...

It's a waste. A giant waste of time. I have been writing on this same blog for about 10 years. Writing about everything and getting almost no feedback.  Lately,  I have written a lot about how I despise that miserable, despicable criminal Donald J. Trump and everything he stands for.  But, it does not matter. You are all immune from reading my writing the same as you Trumpers are immune from rejecting Donald's diarrhea. I post on Twitter, Facebook, to private parties, on other blogs. Wherever. It does not matter. I am a bust. I have only a small, sick following. My work is like a morsel of parakeet shit floating in the Atlantic ocean. Irrelevant . I am not really here. I have published several hundred articles that are fiction. non-fiction, I have started screenplays, biographies, autobiographies, porno stiff, essays. All bullshit to you.  However, all of it sits in my blog for the taking. One of you geniuses could probably do wonders with some of my work. That is if...

I have written a lot for a long time in my seventy one one plus years of existence. I have started novels, short stories, essays, autobiographies, screenplays. You name it. I have ground out a lot of words. Unfortunately, all my words have gone in the junk heap. I do not know that I have ever written anything good. I really don't know yet if I can really write. My stuff has never being published other than on my pathetic blog. I once owned a small business newspaper for which I wrote a weekly publishers opinion column, usually in the middle of the night some forty years ago. Now, I am seventy one, divorced, with a big, loving family that is in great shape.  Fortunately, I have been very lucky so that in my twilight years I have ended up with almost no responsibilities other than walking my girlfriends little dog. He is a five year old American Eski. I've fallen madly in love with him in the year he has been living with us in beautiful southern Florida. I never knew I could be s...