I don’t want to friend SweetLeaf brand stevia on Facebook. I can’t even begin to imagine the loneliness of having a sugar substitute as a friend.

The collection has officially sold enough copies to reach my arbitrary “not embarrassing” level I set before the printing. It’s a strange thing to release that into the world. The reviews have been really great so far. A few people I’d go so far as to say gushed over it. A fine thing indeed. So, why is it not enough? Why do I feel the compulsion to sell more, to garner more praise? Am I not capable of comfort, of allowing a moment to feel accomplished? Probably.

I started writing the novel again, probably another method of producing discomfort, avoid the elephant in the room that is lack of confidence. Aside from all that I met what I guess I’d call a fan. She was nice… it was weird. I wonder if I’ll always feel like a fraud with this writing gimmick? Maybe it’s a good thing, after all, to feel compelled to press on, to never feel comfort. Maybe that’s the only way I get things done, through torture and tumbling nervous stomach. Through self medication and self flagellation the works of Mr. A. M. Bollen are created. I don’t know where I’m going with all of this, save to save that I thought I should pop in and tell you guys how it’s going.

No one writes me back lately, and it’s starting to get to me. Thank god google isn’t self aware yet, or I’d really feel insulted after this rambling missive to the void is left in silence.