Am I the Jackass?

I have written stories since I was in the third grade; I wrote a chapter book, six chapters, called "Toby, A Bear." I always wanted to write. I have a skilled mentor, a very accomplished ghost writer.

I don't let anyone know I write. My close family, my parents, my wife, my kids, know I write. Few others. No inlaws know. No nieghbors, few friends, no collegues of my wife. (There's a good frag for ya, Ice.)

I've had effective covers for years, people never suspected. But now, my covers are quickly vanishing and I look like a lay-about. Someone wants me to help them do something, and I can't explain that I'm up against a hard deadline. This sucks.

The alternative, fessing up, does not thrill me. Oh, I would just love to have my father-in-law critique my writing. Kill me now, first.

I can take the most severe criticisms, from writers or others in the biz.

I'm not embarased about my material, it's not offensive. I'm just not successful at it, just another loser hack. If I made a buck, things would be drastically different.

My daughter just finished a project tonight, a tedious poety thing. She framed the whole thing like a scipt, using my cast-off cover stock. (Two brads, dPat, you'd be proud.) She included a WGAw registration number on the title page, damn. I know she wants to talk about her father, the writer. She honors her vow of secrecy.

There's nothing to be proud of in failure, anyway.

So am I the asshole, or what?

SeanieBlue, I never considered my life as a screenplay, but it might just be screwed up enough to work. I'll give it more thought.

Good points, all. I never considered that I'll have even more people who hate my stuff after publication (if ever). Sorta makes me feel good in an odd way. So what if I have a couple people not like the first few drafts, they'll have a lot of company later.

I might come out of the closet. My wife's aunt would make a great beta reader. She worked for the IOC too, so her input could sure help my "Olympic Hopeful" script. I'll think on this a while.

Maybe my life would make a good sitcom.

My wife is seriously smart, she took Calculus 5 in college (the Good Will Hunting stuff that they don't even know the answers to the questions yet) as a freakin' elective. Yet she still counts on her fingers and mangles pronunciation horribly. She pronuonces kiosk 'kee-sock'. It drove me nuts when I went to a mall to fetch something for her and she kept saying on the cell phone: 'right there, the keesock on the left.' What? What? Happens almost daily.

My daughter is a beautiful 14 going on twenty who won't wear her glasses, so she constantly runs into signs, parking meters, doors, etc. We'll be strolling down the side walk, and I turn around to see her sitting on the concrete, staring in puzzlement at the parking meter which assulted her.

My son is ten. 'Nuf said.