Alright, this is a diary.

Dear You,

I think writing a diary needs needs to be honest, a diary is supposed to be between the writer and the paper. But I have bad handwriting, so I started writing my diary online. I realized I wasn’t being completely honest with myself because there was this tinge of doubt in the privacy of my computer. I am sure you’ve felt it too, or maybe you’ve even liked or shared a meme making light of the government official that may or may not have access to your most private online activities.

That’s why I decided to lean into my lack of privacy and start publishing my diary publicly. I thought, “if my diary is open to everyone and I came to terms with my lack of privacy maybe I would find comfort in my own words again rather than shame and unease which accompanied my most intimate thoughts turned prose.

I have had trouble starting this diary, and my computer is littered with unpublished diaries which upon review felt written for the wrong audience. The truth is, I have been hung up on who my audience was going to be for the better part of a year. Who would want to read the thoughts and ramblings of me: Jefferson Thomas Freeman. Really the only thing I have going for my writing career at the moment is my name.

The truth is I was never writing a book. I was writing an eStory. A massive undertaking I had outlined in the latter part of 2018. The idea was to great websites for fake organizations and fake corporations that together when found by a reader would tell a story. I would have social media accounts for each of the fake entities and I even started setting up the Machine Learning social media dissemination system using some off the shelf social media managing software. I had several of the websites near completion and a significant amount of the content ready for launch.

Then my father died. In the weeks after his death I thought I could push through my grief and launch the story. I thought that keeping myself busy would help keep my mind off the soul crushing reality of life without him. But, I was very wrong.

In the throws of my grief I had moments of motivation which metastasized in spurts of public brainstorming. My launch plan seemed vapid and stupid in the eyes of my grief addled brain. If you were paying attention I am sorry for teasing you with content. And I am apologize for the reality of my story which is that it was to large for my to manage by myself. To be brief, I bit off more than I could chew.

Perhaps when I am a successful writer and have the resources to put together a team of people, I could manage a story the size of my original idea. But for now I am just going to write this diary.

I need to get my sea legs back because for most of 2019 my fingers have not felt limber on my keyboard.

I think my fingers have been waiting for my brain to be honest with them.

So here it is, I am not a great writer yet, I am just a dude who hasn’t been writing much for the better part of a year. I did manage to find the woman of my dreams, a goofy, sexy, intelligent, individual who I have fallen madly in love with. She makes everyday I spend with her better, and she has made the past year of grief into a symphony of cathartic self-discovery.

And as I finish 2019 I have found myself. I’m a unemployed, unpublished writer without much of a portfolio. My idea of 2018 seems like the moonshot of a juvenile. My resume has a huge gap should I wish to go back to consulting, and my savings are gradually dwindling away.

But I have been doing a lot of thinking over the last year. And thoughts are a writers best friend, so as I push forward with the only dream I’ve ever had I’d like to share those thoughts with you.

The first thought is that I need to get some of the junk swirling through my head out, and I know this public diary is probably the best way to do it until I figure out what I want to do with the next chapter of my yet to launch writing career.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you keep reading even if it’s not my words.

Sincerely,

Jefferson Thomas Freeman