oh my

i looked at my book, Hurt, last night. what a fucking mess. and we submitted it to a major publisher that way. no wonder it was rejected. i have to totally go through it and rework it before i can even consider sending it out again. even if i do with a small indie publisher.

jesus, what drugs was i on when i wrote that? seroquel. uh huh. and i wrote it only a year after i had ECT. i couldn't even read it. i skimmed it and looked at the layout. we included some random photos i took in it, which i will take out. and poetry that has to do with my illness that i will leave in. but the major part, oog.

i need help. no. i can do this on my own. i can write a book. how fucking hard can it be? it's autobiographical, after all.