My web presence is an utter mess.
My blog has slowed down to a barely existent crawl, and lately only consists of disjointed depression rants and bad poetry.
The HICKS/YOU 2020 campaign has shut down.
A look through my archives here, and on YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, etc., reveals an inconsistent pandemonium of false starts, broken dreams, and enough incriminating information to screw my reputation for life.
Sometimes, this has been a recovery blog.
Sometimes, it has been a mania-driven, drug-addled circus.
Sometimes, I’ve written with the intention of helping others and brightening up the world.
Sometimes, my writing has been suicidal and infused with darkness.
The only underlying theme is authenticity, a passion for being as real as possible.
I’ve wanted to build a life with these real words, to turn it into a career with books and public talks and helping other people express themselves with writing.
Imagine my disappointment after I self-published five books in about a year and had no idea how to get anyone to buy the fucking things.
I did some local public promotion appearances, and knew that this is a long game, not one of instant gratification.
But during my long game, while I worked on building this life of mine, I got tired and hit a dead end.
And became extremely depressed, which mucked up the entirety of my endeavors.
I have more excuses, too. Lots. I’ll spare you (and myself).
I don’t know what my output will morph into next. For now, I’ll leave it all hanging out, and chisel away at the contours of the thing until it takes a coherent shape.
Actually, here’s a question…
What would you do if you were me?
Also published on Medium.