Guys, I am pretty fucking bad at this shit. I am in no way equipped to tell the story that I wanted to tell. Maybe if I'd not fucked up during that semester on writing I could give you guys the story you deserve but as-is, I do not think I am capable of doing it right.

Honestly I don't know why I'm saying this, here, now. Maybe it's just to let you all know that I haven't dropped the ball completely, that I'm still trying with this whole shindig, instead of just leaving it to sit as a monument of my failure and moving on.

I have a couple drafts I'm working on still, but they're nowhere close to being done, or even a workable state. Just half-remembered jumbles of words dredged up from the place inside my consciousness that waking dreams live in.

I don't really know how to start this story. I sure as hell don't know how to continue it. I have one of several million possible endings for it in mind, but unless I try to force the story into it I doubt it'll ever happen. Right now I am just amassing a few hazy visions and trying to write them out as best I can.

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So, yeah. That's about it. I'm not dead or anything, just wallowing in a pit of dumbassery.

The question I have for you lot is this: Should I keep pounding my skull against this pitiful excuse for a book until something decent comes out of it? Or should I put this on ice, and slam out a pile of short stories to practice with?

I've been thinking of doing the latter for a while now, but I don't know if I should do so in this fiction or make a new one, or if indeed that is the best choice at all.

You know what's pitiful, this is already longer than my lousy attempt at a prologue, and probably contains much more meaning. Words are hard unless I'm rambling.

So, uh, yeah. I dunno. I'm just some dude playing at being an author, utterly lacking in direction. Do me a favor and give me one, will you? Please, I've been extra good this year.