With over a year having transpired since my last post, and a total readership of like...2, I think it's safe to go ahead and call the time of death for my blog.
I'm well aware of the fact that I'm essentially just writing to empty air, but I feel the need to at least attempt to explain my lack of activity. I'd love to blame it on the complete and total upheaval of my former life, (which is true), but it would still just be an excuse. Many writers thrive during times of great personable tragedy. They exploit their own suffering to tell stories. Stories of love, and pain, and death. Their tales are not always as colorful, nor as fanciful as those I've so artlessly penned here. However, they thrive and even endure due to the intensity of the emotions dripping from every syllable.
I am not gifted with the fortitude necessary to tap into the wellspring of my own suffering. Instead, I find myself paralyzed. I am transported out of the world I created, instead forced to fester and sulk in the pain of the world I've worked so long and hard to ignore.
Even when I'm happy, as I have been for the past ten months, (the happiest I've ever been in my life actually), I still manage to avoid finding the time to write.
See...it's just excuses.
So, for both of you reading this...I'm starting over. I have completely lost all track of where I was going anyway, and the delivery was poorly orchestrated anyway....so I'll just start something new. Just short stories, thoughts, impulses...nothing serial. That may come down the line...but for now we'll just say it's a new beginning for graphic novelty.
Thanks.
-Vincent.
