Well, my precious Gidsciples, I have had so much going on in my life that it wasn’t until a couple weeks ago that I realized, not only have I not updated this blog which nobody really reads, but I really haven’t thought much about what to write on this blog lately. The Golden Pedestal is covered in dusty cobwebs and rat skeletons, and I think there’s a squatter living in the basement now? It’s weird. But whomever they are, they stay relatively quiet, despite the fact that I think they may be stealing my blood and selling it when I’m sleeping. But that’s okay, everyone needs to make that sweet, sweet cheddar, am I right? Of course I am. I’m me.
I started this blog in April of 2019 with the intention of updating it bi-weekly, with all sorts of advice about life, writing, etc. In that year, I made seventeen posts. Not bad, not bad. I was off to a promising start.
In 2020, I had written eight, but that was a rough year for everybody. It was a struggle just to make it to the next day. Less than ideal, but hey; it is what it is.
In 2021, I’ve only done two. That is positively shameful.
So here we stand, ankles-deep into 2022, and I’m telling myself to get back on the horse. There’s the old joke of “You Should Be Writing,” among writers. It’s absolutely true. Many of the writers I know, (myself included,) think about this every time they aren’t writing, and have caught themselves doing anything else. Enjoying a quiet moment on the couch? You should be writing. Video games going well? You should have used that time for writing, you squanderer. Are you asleep, instead of writing right now, you selfish, sleepy asshole? …WHY ARE YOU SLEEPING INSTEAD OF WRITING!?
Author’s Note: Sometimes my bigger ideas hit me when I’m laying in bed, trying to sleep. The notes app on my phone has been positively invaluable for shit like that, and is full of weird messages to myself that make no sense when I wake up the next morning. My genius is too great, even for myself, is what I’m saying.
To update you on what’s been going on with me (while I’ve been not writing, like some kind of monster,) I have left Las Vegas as of July, and returned to my hometown of Seattle. The move back home was—to put it as gently as possible—a clusterfuck hellscape of unending torment. What was supposed to be a day-and-a-half drive, (with a single stop for rest on the way,) turned into a four-day ordeal involving extended fish maintenance, three completely different breakdowns which drained our resources and resulted in me selling my car mid-trip, and a weird persistent battle between my girlfriend and one of our cats, who mastered his inner Houdini while we were traveling, not content with being constrained to his enclosure in the back seat of her car. I am really giving you the condensed version of a lengthy nightmare tale, but considering we’ve vowed “We Do Not Speak Of The Move,” you’re lucky to be getting that much.
Now that I’m back in the ol’ Pacific Northwest, I miss the sun like a fish misses water. I’m trying to re-adapt to my old foe, seasonal depression, with the new dynamic of my sweet girlfriend, who is now realizing it is a very real thing affecting her, too. She didn’t seem to remember how dreary this weather can be until we got back; while I have never forgotten, because I hate it with the white hot intensity of a sun we can no longer see. But, we soldier on, and have really good jobs now, unlike Vegas, where workers are treated like borderline slave labor, with almost no benefits to speak of.
But now that we’ve gotten settled in, I really need to get back to work. The problem is figuring out what shape that work is supposed to take. I have a manuscript written; an urban fantasy that clocks in at about 148,000 words. I have a sequel to it which clocks in at at around 187,000 words. I thought perhaps the first one would be a little too big to pitch to a publisher, since most of them will shoot down a book over 150,000, so I whittled it down to what it is now, and I shall whittle no more. While I was working on that, I wrote a different manuscript, deliberately meant to be smaller, which takes place in the same shared universe, revolving around completely different characters, who are very loosely connected to the characters from my whittle down manuscript. I was hoping this third book might be a good way to get my foot in the door, and pitch the first book I’d worked on and whittled down.
Now, I’m not sure if I should pitch the smaller edit of my first manuscript, or the new book. To top it off, in order to keep my creative juices flowing, I started a sequel to the new book. (I have a lot of manuscripts, is basically the point.) So, while I haven’t been updating the blog in a while, I’ve been keeping very, very busy. I also started a new job after the move, which has been a large focus of my time lately. So, between work, not knowing what to do with my manuscript pitches, and trying so hard to unwind with video games or catch up on the unending tide of media I’m behind on, you can see where the time has gone.
Author’s Note: A fictionalized sense of achievement is just as good as the real thing, right? As long as the world is safe from imaginary digital terrorists, I’ve contributed to society, right?
But, now I have ideas for directions I’d like to go in. Primarily, I want to do one of those pop culture podcasts everyone has. Yeah, I know I’m not reinventing the wheel on this one, but I think it would be fun, and I’d love to rope my sister in to co-host with me. We have barely come up with a title, and don’t have any time at the moment to sit down and bang out the further details and logistics, but I think it would be fun. Another thing I’ve thought about doing, is starting a book here, on this very blog. I spoke a long time ago about putting up writing samples, and I was thinking it might not be a bad idea to flex my writing chops here with something new that I’m actively not putting into a pitch-able manuscript. I figure I can put it up a chapter at a time, and let folks actually read what I’m about, writing-wise. But, here’s where I start running out of time again, and deciding that my fleeting time is better spent stopping terrorists and anarchists on my Playstation 4, than actually burning it on more of the same thing.
I’m at a weird conflux where I feel like I’m wasting time by not producing work, while constantly coming up with new things to not do, and spinning my wheels about the work I should be doing. It’s the “fish or cut bait” of the creative process, and it’s eroding my spirit just a little bit more, every single day. Is this something every writer deals with? I keep hearing people with similar stories, especially during this time of outbreaks and COVID variants, so I’m assuming it’s true. It’s just hard to bring myself to keep creating right now; like I’m spitting into an already turbulent ocean of “shit that’s out there.”
I can’t let that sort of mindset stop me, though. I have to query; I know this. I have to keep writing to stay sharp; I know this, too. I have to figure out how the fuck a podcast works behind-the-scenes, (and how to get myself started with one, and how to talk my sister into finding the time to join me,) and I absolutely must, must, must keep the work flowing more visibly than I have been this past year. I know what needs to be done; I just need to sort it all out. And honestly, my undiagnosed attention disorder is like Sisyphus’ boulder, constantly rolling me back down the hill when I feel like I’m near the top.
If you’re like me, (and I know I am,) and you’re going through this weird cycle, you aren’t alone out there. One of my favorite podcasts hasn’t had a new episode since the pandemic began, and I miss those guys a lot. Some folks have doubled down on working from home, and are creating around the pandemic. This is a fine mindset that I need to adopt. I need to flourish, and network, and get my shit out there, because what are any of us waiting for? Seriously; I’m turning 45 this year, and I feel like I’ve done nothing with my time on this planet but waste my potential. (I know I shouldn’t feel that way, but the narcissism constantly tells me I’m bound for well-deserved greatness, and why am I not there yet?)
Author’s Note: I’d think I was a worthless asshole if I didn’t already believe twice as hard that I’m fucking fantastic.
Maybe I need to look into other people’s methods. How do they achieve and continue to grow, where others who are suffering from exhaustion and burnout look like they’ve stopped? Is this a mental block I must overcome on my own, or do I need some kind of success therapist? Oh, man—if success therapists are a thing, and I didn’t know that, I’m going to feel really stupid. I need to get me one of those.
It’s not like I’m not working; quite the opposite, in fact. But maybe I just need to start putting this stuff out there for the world to see, in some form or another. Maybe, if you’re like me, you need to start doing that, too. Just something for us all to think about, I suppose.
Until next time, dear readers!
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have digital terrorists to secure your freedom from.
You’re welcome, America.