I was looking through the blog tonight and saw how very few posts I’d written this last year. Then I looked over at my original blog I’ve hosted on blogger for the last decade or so. I made my first post on that blog on February 9, 2005. Between then and June of 2011 I composed 1,296 different posts. Some were of course short; one or two paragraphs. Most were pages and pages. I’ve never known to lack for conversation, even with myself it seems.
In six and a half years of writing on that blog I posted almost 1,300 times. If you consider my average repeated abuse of the vernacular, that’s somewhere around two King James Bibles worth of whatever was in my head at the time. I covered everything from gaming, to recipes, relationships, friendships, my trip to Europe, my time in Africa, and a lot more.
In the last year I might have written twelve articles maybe.
I sit here and ponder why and lots of perfectly viable reasons exist. Facebook is probably a big one. Social media itself and its rise to where it exists today is basically micro-blogging; short quick thoughts, and whimsy mainly mixed with a healthy dose of political derision. Occasionally, slightly longer things to ponder occasionally make their way to my wall, but not often. I used to sit down and think about what I wanted to say. We didn’t have Facebook or Twitter yet. It was email to individuals or blogs for mass-readership. That was your option.
Lots of other things have changed as well. I’ve got more responsibilities. Back then I just ran another man’s company. The success or failure of it was ultimately his problem. I just kept things moving smooth. Now I’m a full-time business owner that has to try to generate enough business not only for myself and my family but for those that consider themselves part of this team, this family. That’s incredibly more time-consuming and even when it’s not eating hours out of the day its leaching motivation from me to want to spend any more time on the computer than I already have.
Engaged readership is a different thing as well. Back then thoughtful conversations posted for consumption resulted in thoughtful dialogue with those technically-minded enough to participate, thus weeding out the muggles. Today everyone has Facebook so your audience and thus your commentary is going to be more varied – a fact which is both positive and negative. You get a lot more exposure, but you suffer a lot more idiots in the process.
Back then I had a girlfriend. Today I have a wife. Then I had an apartment I just needed to pay rent on each month. Today I have a house and land that has to be both paid for and maintained. Gone are the days of the mindset that if it gets to be too much I’ll just move somewhere else. When you agree to a thirty-year note things change for you subtly in your mind. Priorities shift.
I used to have one Jeep that was almost paid for. Today we have four four-wheel-drive vehicles that need maintenance, two four-wheelers, one riding-tractor, two kayays, and half a dozen small-engine monsters that need constant maintenance. Hell, just the mere fact that I own a yard at all means half a day every weekend for the entire sunny part of the year that’s gone – clearly designated to domestic maintenance and keeping the wife happy looking at a pretty lawn.
I used to have two cats. Not three. One belonged to April. Two cats is the straight-man limit. If you have three cats, you’re simply gay and you need to own it and man up about it. Today I have three dogs, one cat, sometimes a snake, and whatever livestock might be waiting for me in the living room when my wife comes home from work. Yes, I said livestock. Yes, I said living room. Stop and think about it. That’s what I have to do every time I encounter it. It’s like a never-ending game of “what doesn’t belong” in my house. I walk in and it’s fireplace, sofa, coffee table, rug, laptop, goat. Ok, I know this one. It should be easy. Something here is out of place….
The funny thing is, the writing style came back to me within just a few paragraphs. I started this a page ago wondering what I was going to write about. I’m 740 words in and I’m still going on about minutiae. Don’t be so quick to laugh there punchy… you’re still reading aren’t you? That’s what I thought.
I miss writing. I still want to write a book but it still eludes me. Most of you know I started one; the beginnings of which are here on this blog under the category Novel. I just can’t keep going with that one. I know what I want to do with it, but the elements I want to keep don’t make sense for the scenario because it started out wrong. It’s got potential to be a viable story- just not the way I want it to be.
The other thing is that I read too much. Maybe if I didn’t read everything I could get my hands on about a subject that would be different, but I have a constant need to learn new things. I like the post-apocalyptic reality-prepper genre. Hell, it’s basically my life. That’s why it was so easy to write about. I’ve got skills most don’t, tools most don’t and I’m constantly learning new things about sustainability. How to harness solar power. Check. How to work a ham radio. Check. How to talk halfway across the entire world with one antenna, one radio and a car battery. Check.
No, seriously. See that radio there below? I’m listening to some dude in Ireland and some other guy in Poland chat about nothing. That’s 3,625 miles away and I can reach out and chat with them by clicking a few buttons.
I dislike it severely when authors write about things the fundamentally don’t understand. It ruins the plot for me and leaves me wondering that if they so completely screw up something I consider very easy to get correct, then can I gain any actual knowledge from the remainder of the book? How can I trust anything I read as learning material. Sure I can enjoy it as pure fiction, but that’s not how my mind works.
A friend of mine goes by the moniker Angery American. I read his books and learned a ton. You can do all kinds of things with kudzu. You can just about live on the stuff with all the random things you can make from it. Flour, chips, and tons of other things.
My wife just got home. I was going to make some comment about it being high-time she got back. Maybe it’s time for some… OH! What the hell is that? What are you covered in? D – a – m – n baby!
Don’t ever let her get close and hug you when she comes home with that smile on her face. That’s a misleading smile that actually means “Come over here and let me cover you in placenta and shit!” (And I didn’t mean that as a descriptor. It’s actually placenta. And it’s actually shit.)
That stuff right there on the right.. that’s cow butt juices.
And that stuff on the right… that right there is some bonafide cow shit.
And her boots are squishy because the cow’s water broke on her feet…
And here I am y’all… living the dream! lol
Well, while she showers and washes the bovine off her beautiful self, I’ll finish this up a little.
I want to write, but I don’t want to write something that’s been written already, whether it was done wonderfully or horribly. New plot material is hard to come up with. I’ve had a few nuggets here and there appeal to me but nothing that will stick yet. And dear God, no, that wasn’t an invitation for you to think up “great” material that would make an awesome story and send it to me. The last time I posted some comment like that I got hammered with a ton of email about what a great story this idea would make and I should write about it!
First, no it’s not a great idea.
Second, if it’s that good an idea, YOU write about it and I’ll read it later. Mmm’k?
Well, my wife takes a Marine shower, so I’m pretty sure she’s out by now. I’m gonna park my happy butt on the OTHER end of the couch and munch down a bowl of frosted Rice Krispies while we watch Sherlock together.
- Shit. Outta milk.