Archive for June 2013

A big slice of lame

June 25, 2013

You may be saying to yourself, “Dude, I thought you were going to write one article a week. What the heck happened?” To which I would reply, “Listen, crazy nagging voice in my head, is ‘dude’ the best you could come up with to get my attention? What about ‘lazy word pimp’ or ‘punk-ass scribbler’? Also, you’re not the boss of me, other me.”

Seriously, I’ve started several posts that I’ve slogged about 1/4th of the way through before abandoning them like dumpster babies. Canvas-bag-of-puppies-in-the-river? I don’t know, whichever is more offensive, but you get the picture. I lose my connection to the piece and begin to heckle my own topic and style. I know, I don’t like that guy either.

I’m just feeling a distinct lack of inspiration lately, the kind of lull where you are more inclined to follow the happily pestering voice cajoling you to go play more video games, or plant yourself on the couch for re-re-reruns. Those voices are getting more funding from my brain lately, so they’re campaigning like champs, promising me leveled-up game characters, bags of snack foods and frequent naps. Their constituents, my hands, feet, mouth and stomach, are weak and easily swayed. Bastard traitors.

To make things worse, I keep a calendar at work that I write the title of each entry on each day I’ve written something. In bold permanent marker. Makes the blank spaces stand out like screaming white holes of shame. But is is fun to come up with witty explanations for the calendar words.

Co-worker: Why do you have “Stupidity” written for Wednesday?

Me: That was the day you called me at my desk phone and asked me if I was at work.

Here’s the thing: I’m not a celebrity, so writing about what I’ve eaten, or what project at work is giving me brain-pain, or who I’m sleeping with (a hint: it rhymes with Achebeyo) is just plain boring to anyone not related to me or trying to keep constant tabs on me for obscure reasons that make me constantly feel like I need a shower. And I’m clearly not doing this for me. Much. Okay, the ego boost of having people read what you write is almost worth the pillow-wringing frustration of seeing fewer and fewer hits on your blog.

It’s hard to find a niche when you don’t really have any true direction in your writing. Oh sure, I could blather on and on about the silly stories I have from my life, or, you know, post multiple entries about struggling to find something to write, but who really wants to read that every week? Maybe¬†you do. But you need to bring more friends to this place and put in a few orders for those mental menu items of mine. You show a little interest and I’ll show a little (brain)skin.

Those are a few of the many thoughts that plague my every finger-poke on the keyboard during these moments of creative flat-line. And I’m not sure that forcing myself to write would do anything more than fuel my internal peanut gallery’s derision of my attempt to keep this ability stretched and ready to run that literary marathon.

That’s the long way of me saying I have loads of respect not only for published authors, but for bloggers who write incessantly and in a manner conducive to increased traffic on their sites. My couch-rumpled hat is off to you. Now back to playing something sci-fi based and time-consuming.


Convoluted self-flagellation

June 4, 2013

I cheated.

Some of you are probably reading that statement and already breaking out the judgement batons. Before you start lighting the retarded fires of Internet flame-wars, hear me out.

I made a promise; not quite a vow, as I’m far less dedicated than that, but a simple promise. Something I thought even someone like me, with my tendency to be all over the map emotionally and mentally, could at least pretend to adhere to. Either the sticky-paper of my resolve was weak-sauce, or I’m just better at apologizing than I am at reasoning in advance.

Who did I really hurt, honestly? I guess I’d have to stop being vague and indefinite so you can finally roll your eyes and punch me in the blog for leading you on like this.

There was…we…I…I didn’t post anything to this place last week.

There, I said it.

It wasn’t an easy decision. Wait, strike that. It was one of the easiest decisions I’d made in a while. I simply let The Lazy whisper to me that video games, movies on the couch and naps were a better use of my time than forcing myself to come up with something entertaining to shove into your eyeholes.

And honestly? The inspiration usually pimp-slaps me about mid-way through the week. A co-worker will make some ridiculous statement that sparks a mental fire in me, or I’ll remember something from my childhood that is mildly alarming or entertaining, or I’ll simply pull an idea out of the things you people write and try to run with that.

Last week, the only things I had scrabbling around in my head squeaking for attention were rants about the kinds of things that attract rabid readers ready for a fight, and that’s not what I want for this place…at the moment. Maybe when I get desperate enough for readers, I’ll drop an ignorant rant or two and see who comes charging forward to split my skull with their knowledge axe.

Once again, I faced the uncomfortable feeling that forcing myself to write would only result in something like this current guilt-piece, a tick-mark on my mental checklist that really lacks the spark of something truly entertaining. Last week, I let The Lazy sweet-talk my burgeoning guilt into taking a break, and this is the result.

For those of you who kindly inhabit this place, whether of your own designs, or my constant begging for you to feed my ego by visiting, know that I do actually have more fun and entertaining stories to share…once I wrestle The Lazy into submission. Or take a nap, whichever concept makes the best sales pitch.

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