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Dear Self-Publishing Journal,

(This post is best read to You Spin Me Round by Dead or Alive)

(With Pete Burns’ hairstyle in this video)

Dear Self-Publishing Journal,

I am in a spiraling circle. I edit some of my manuscript; decide my manuscript is horrible; take a break; feel horrible for not achieving my dreams. I’m jealous of everyone who is achieving their dreams. I edit some of my manuscript; decide my manuscript is horrible. Etc.

While during this, I work on my website and linking Facebook with my email with my website. I spend 5 hours figuring out how to make an email subscriber list and have it link from my website to my email list. When asked what I did that day, I show how clicking enter links things together. It takes two seconds. It’s not impressive. And I don’t know how to get people to subscribe to my email list because I don’t have a hook. I’m jealous of everyone who has a hook. I go back to working on my website. I spend 5 hours making a button work. Etc.

The loops just spin me right round, round, round.

Meanwhile I have another manuscript I’m working on so that when this cycle finally leads to a finished manuscript, I can keep the cycle going with an unfinished one.

This cycle keeps me fairly busy and I’m still not doing everything I could be. I should have beta readers. And a hook for the email list. Maybe a desire to train for the Pixie Dust Challenge. And a new car.

I’ve read about how people always hate what they write or that feeling you’re the worst is a sign that what you wrote is decent. This helps me feel I’m not alone and it’s kind of nice. But when I’m in the middle of these cycles, I feel alone and that no one has ever felt this way ever before in the entire universe.  Ever.

Right round like a record, baby.

They would be great if these circles were made of gold and actual gold coins, but they’re made of air. And not real. Because I’m speaking figuratively. And musically vie Dead and Alive.   I gladly would accept gold coins if given to me or an invitation to lunch with Pete Burns in order to help me feel better about my figurative round records of despair.

Well, that’s all I’ve got to say. I hope you’re doing better than last week when I didn’t write to you because I wasn’t in a writing section of a circle.

Keep on keeping on.



This is a summertime pit. You can roast marshmallows on my despair in the summer.

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