Video Credit: Shea

This was originally written for just one person, But in my vain vanity fantasy, I decided to ‘Shit-Post’ it here.

(Because I am adrift at sea… And exhibiting my most hated characteristics: self-pity and self-loathing)

These are gonna come off as some really vain, pompous questions, but questions I struggle with every day:

1. Am I ‘Interesting?’

2. Is my writing worth a fuck?

3. Or am I just another asshole?

4. Who calls Himself a ‘Writer?’

(There are many more I beat myself up over, and if you drill down into my archives, you may be happy/unhappy to discover them, but for the purposes of THIS Post, They are Not Germane.)

Not fishing for validation, compliments, nor smoke blown up my vanity ass—Honesty.

Honesty is what I need. All I desire.

If my writing is only self-serving, then I am a failure (as a writer)

Please be honest—Trust me: I can take it—There is no harsher critic of me, than me.

Sometimes I feel lost at sea—And, as a sailor, this is never a good thing.

I keep watching/listening to Bukowski and asking myself these questions.

Take some time with your respond:

I am way past the point of counting upon ‘Instant Gratification.’

Cheers My Good,

Honest Friends,

–Many-Feet Marcom—Wanna-Be Writer