Back in January I wrote a short story. Barely. More like a vignette, really.

When I started on it, I felt driven. I felt as if I had a good angle, I wrote about something I loved and then seeing the word-count barely break 1,000, after all that effort, broke me.

I always felt words came easy to me. If that was true, then perhaps it’s story that comes hard.
Taking steps is easy, running a marathon or even arriving at a set destination is a multi-layered skill. One that the skill of putting one foot in front of another, in isolation, does not amount to much.

I thought I got distracted and other tasks took me away from what I was trying to accomplish, but now, twelve months later, I can see it clear as day: I got deflated.

Writing is hard. Long form is even harder.

When all adds up, 2020 - Year of Writing is a clear failure. Not even small goals have been achieved.

That being said, there’s a naïveté in my heart that has me want to try this again, at a future date.

If all I’m looking for is some modest financial success, I believe my fundamental approach is correct:

1. Build an software solution to analyze gaps in the market;
2. Make attempts in those niches;
3. Re-tune;
4. ???
5. Profit.

That’s a story for another year.