Writers block. Forcing these words is like forcing a turd riddled with clumps of corn. I squat before my computer screen red in the face, eyes squinty, palms sweaty. Writing should be fun. It should be pleasurous and it should therapute and it should cathart. (Note the made up words because real words escape me and are ill fitted to my purpose) So I throw up a prayer and turn on a tune. I type out a paragraph of perfectly pure, tru-blue bullshit. And then predictably delete the whole horrendous heap with a couple of resonant clicks. Yes, words escape me. Other writers intimidate me, better writers, including myself. I reread old pieces of mine and shake my head in disbelief at how slick I might have once been. Sparing use of simile and metaphor. Subtle techniques meant to engage the reader, cause God knows the typical blog surfer has the attention span of a hyperactive field mouse on crack. Hell I even expertly used words I presently don’t know the meanings of.
My record is 75 comments. It happened sometime in July and I was at my flirtatious best pounding out pseudo- romantic, pseudo-edgy, pseudo-intellectual tripe. I still am, though with a lot less romance and a tad more morosity, monstrosity, and abject moronity. Pretentious as always, don't worry. Where have all the comments gone? I stepped out of the game. I left the mutual back scratching, dick sucking, and disingenuous complimenting by the roadside holding a sign reading: “will write for praise.” Thinned links and trimmed fat tossed behind my back for hungry dogs to fight over with yip-yelping teeth gnashing. It’s a Darwinistic struggle for survival, for the highest spot in the blogospheric ecological system, or ultimately, that fairy-tale book deal.
I heard someone describe it as the whispering of ghosts... these friendships... these crushes. These love affairs based on words written on a page that could or couldn’t be real. Am I real? No. Yes. Maybe. Or I might be a machine randomly stringing together phrases stolen from other people’s writings - a thief of the mind. A kleptomanic pocketing the abstract stealing away in the night with a duffel bag full of non-things. A satchel full of non-ideas I’ve come to peddle like a central park drug dealer with a mouth full of shrink-wrapped crack-rock.
19 comments:
You are real. I don't believe in all that metaphysical crap that your existence depends on me or others. You wrote this - not me - and if you punch me square in the face it hurts more than me doing it - that's for sure.
As for the writing, I know the feeling. I've been feeling off kilter for a while and look at older stuff and think it's better. Funnily enough, I often think my best was the one which got the most comments - around 50. Now I'm lucky to get 20 and usually 5 of those will be me. Now, either this means I'm getting shit or I'm not playing blog properly. I don't know, but feel cheap and shallow when I indulge in detective work as to why my comments have dropped off. I'm sure, at least, that my writing is better than it's comment count - I hope to fuck you feel the same - you should.
Anyway, the point is not the writing, but the blogginess of it. Sometimes I feel writing for a blog is like painting a Chippendale antique chair in cheap, red paint. So, my aim this year is to write a book offline at the same time. If the fucker gets published, then fucking 'hoorah' - if not, will I pull the plug on the blog? Fuck knows, but one thing I do know is, I don't enjoy writing - it enjoys me.
Does that make any sense?
Perfect sense.
You and I are very alike, Ruk, we think alike. We're in very similair stages in our "blogospheric" development. We've seen each other evolve both stylistically as well as in the choices of content we decide to use.
If I had a nickel for everytime someone has said to me I should write a book or get published. Almost all of these people, these faithful readers, who touted me as "brilliant" aren't around anymore because I stopped playing this stupid fucking game. Does this mean those comments were in fact complete bullshit and fluffy lies?
You're absolutely right though with your Chippendale chair analogy. Blogging is just farting in the wind. If I were to write a book one day, like you, it would stay off the lines. I would still need feedback though... honest, harsh, ugly criticism... and I'd probably e-mail my project to you and several other writers I admire for this feedback. I'd hope you'd choose to do the same.
Anyhow, I don't really have to explain how I feel to you. I know you know, Ruk. I know you know.
There are very few bloggers who follow our path, and of those, even less who can hold my interest for anything length of time. You, you're good enough, interesting enough, to have held a spot on my reading list for nearly a year now. Hope you keep up the good work. And I know you didn't ask for advice, but it's in my very nature to hand out unsolicited counsel.
1. Don't think about it so much. Let the ideas just come to you without trying to force things. Even if that means you don't post for a week, it'll save you from putting up something second-rate. Myself, I like to follow a piece of Mr Palahniuk's advice: "don't go to that boring, dusty computer without something in mind."
2. Comments? Who cares. If someone comments every day, repeatedly saying the same thing, what does it mean? I recently put mine back up for one reason: I was getting a "done, but with errors on page" message without that bit of script. Once I find time to sit down and figure out how to fix the error, that useless comment feature will be gone once more.
I would definitely encourage you to put something together offline. And when you do, know that I'll be around to help out in any way I can, be it anything from feedback to editing.
well i think the blogosphere has different scenes just like the world too and i certainly belong to those people who just jerk off on their page. sometimes as a means of relief, a means of self reflection , you can turn the blog into a mirror, a lake, a window and reflect yourself however you want it, you can jerk off at other;s people 's pages too hooray and can give them a hand job and praise them and tell them you still like them hahaha. your writerblog ahm block sounds pretty elaborate to me. fuck the comments. keep on jerking off, for me, i like watching you. i like to be inspired by you. i like to wonder. and thats probably the biggest difference between the book and the blog: the wonderment. it's closer, more subjective, you can wonder more about the person, basically it is just some cables and two screens that divide us. there is no editors, no publishers, no whole salers no retailers that are between us. it s you and me and the others in all privacy and we like it. it s like the salon of the 19 th century. you never know.....
i always reread what i just wrote. like mails i write or text messages. i write them, send them and then reread them. i don't reread my journal immidately. that's really just jerking off. the aspect of voyeurs makes me write differently. and lord thanks that i can type so fast thanks to my manager secretary diploma hahaha
oh and as for people who are gone. how do you know? at some point i didn't ahve time to do the back scratching thing either anymorel. i just read. fluffy lies? maybe life goes on? some people are not interested in watching flowers grow. i don't know whether i am. i am certainly more of an admirer than serious writer. or maybe just someone who decided to grow slowly. anyhow. i wouldn't ever critcise you (sorry) because i am re-active and i am very grateful for this comment thing on blogs because it gives me the possibility to reflect and feedback the thoughts you inspired. i mean. how cool is that? paolo coelho is too busy to write back.
so you played a fucked stupdid game? so you know it was a game. you played them they played you, what do you expect? water to wine or what?
oh and running the risk that you must really get annoyed now by my lengthy flood of comments: i just thought about it: when i come across a blog and there is a STORY on it, you know, like FICTION, i don't read it really. only when i have like A LOT OF TIME. the blog thing is, when i really think about it, totally something that satisfies two strange traits of human nature that, however, have always been an engine for evolution: curiosity/voyeurism and empathy. the very fact, that i can suspect a real person with a real maybe as shitty or as strangly beautiful as my life makes it so special. as for the writing: it is a good way of hooking people when you write well and interesting. but yeah, as soon as the story gets too far away from what might be real and you it loses this flavor that attracted me in the first place....
Darling . . . this is the core of why we all love blogging. It's our psuedo reality.
My emotions, reactions, events, moments and feelings somehow mean more when I tap, tap, tap at my perfectly fingertip sized keys. White hands on a black keyboard. The contrast is ironic.
Blogging is absolutely fascinating to me - It makes me feel like I'm not just another ant marching to the beat of a muffled tribal drum. It has taught me to never doubt the depth of my human perception. Fascination. Apparent and personal reaction. Calm.
Who needs links? You know who your comrades are.
Trite. I always welcome, appreciate, and value your advice. To me, you have attained that nirvanic creative state, that sublime genius, that I strive for. Of course, I'm quite sure you over-criticize your own work and may sometimes find yourself in the exact same quandry I'm currently in. We are never content, as well we should be.
I've thought about shutting down comments altogether, as you have (yet again I see), and communicating with my readers/friends via e-mail. Because of personal reasons I really can't do that... yet.
I definitely have some potential projects up my sleeve. I just don't have the focus or patience to devote multiple chapters around the same characters in the same setting. I have the attention span of an infant. However, when that day comes, you'll be the first person to know about it.
Again, thank you for the advice.
Piranha. Whew. I feel like I've been shot at by a gattling gun. You raise so many legitimate... very good... points.
I really like what you say about the blogosphere being a "salon" setting. You're right, it is so much more free flowing and "on the fly" than the traditional literary setting. There is also a lot of shit out there... self-indulgent pretentious gossip blogs. The "oooh, look how cool I am! Check out how wild my life is!" bullshit. Or the scores and scores of political blogs. Yada, yada...CRAP.
To me at least.
My blogroll reflects what I find interesting. What I am comfortable with. Writing that makes me happy and that I feel at home reading. I have less and less time to surf nowadays so when I do, I like to make that time worthwhile. Just like you stated.
I am honored I'm included on YOUR reading list and that my ideas, struggles, conquests are in your thoughts... even for the briefest instant. Thanks Piranha.
Colonialave. Links... Schminks. I do know who my comrades are and I am perfectly content keeping a small, elite cadre of quality comrades. And they know who they are.
It is definitely a satisfying feeling to log all of our emotions and ideas. My blog is my digital notepad. A sketchbook that just happens to be available to view anytime by anyone.
However, I wouldn't be blogging if I didn't want these ideas to be shared. All of my shit would be kept on my harddrive never seeing the light of day... ever. As Piranha said, it is a symbiotic voyeurism. We LIKE to see people struggle and in return we air our laundry. Now, if no one is reading, that's a bad thing. If a ton of people are reading who don't particularly like what they're reading or understand what they're reading but read anyhow out of duty... this is also a bad thing. If the right people are reading and sharing and absorbing, even if it's five people... this is beautiful.
So, please keep reading and, for fuck's sake, NEVER stop sharing.
Dude, you don't need a blog to get a book deal!
I read because you have what it takes to get on my coffee table and picked up on a regular basis.
In the future I can help, but right now I am numbed.
Until then comrades unite, or somthing like that. I quite fancy an elite club!!
man, I've been lurking for a while, and commenting only recently, and thissy here post of yours almost demands a comment. Your words have become so much more readable now that you've dropped the 'virtual scene' as it were or some shit like that. The words in your comment response a few comments back about the contacting or making a connection with as few as five rang the most true, hell- I'm happy with one, but I'm a Tijuana Whore that way. Time will tell my strange friend, stick with it, do stick with it. We suffer a similar struggle with refining the notebook....by the by, was checking out some of your images...yours? Of your hand I mean? Just plain tight at times. More images to accompany the words I say.
Admin. A coffee table book, huh?
Someone I respect told me recently she would rather read my words, and the words of certain other live-web writers{bloggers}, on paper... bound in leather. Old school style. In the beginning, I loved the idea of instantaneous transmittal of thoughts and ideas over millions of miles of wire. Nowadays, I'd be so much more content to see these words compiled in a modest, handsome book and communicate with other writers through paper letters.
Nomenclat. Even though my words lately may not be as pretty, they are tangible. They're from the gut... a sucker punch to the balls meant to crumple over and create deep, piercing stomach pains. It's funny, I used to take requests... like some FUCKING wedding D.J!! The last person I ever wrote for was myself because I strove to please everybody else.
Anyhow, thanks for the kind words. Yes, almost all of the images in my image gallery I created except for the collage with the dancers. My sister whipped that one up on photoshop. Stay tuned though, I've been carrying my camera with me more and more as of late.
Complex Girl. I certainly hope this post didn't come off as some sort of a self-induced pity party because I definitely didn't intend that. Just the way I've been feeling as of late and the first part is especially true, writers block is such a bitch.
I think I will follow Chuck's advice. It's time to walk away from that dusty, boring computer until I have something interesting to say.
Loved it. I might be a man of fewer words myself. So just imagine my writers block! Barely noticeable :) while yours come in over 2,000 words!
Yeah...this post was pretty crappy. You need to go out and get into a drunken fist fight with a midget and a gay biker...that'll get the ol' juices a-flowin.
No...just kidding. Look, you can't force the shit,I want your written SPONTINEITY or nothing else!
In writing, there is no line between the 'real world' and 'world of myth and symbol.' Objects, sensations, hit with the impact of hallucination. Strip your psyche to the bare bones of spontaneous process, and you give yourself one chance in a thousand to make the Pass. I think one should write, as nearly as possible, as if he were the first person on earth and was humbly and sincerly putting on paper that which he saw and experienced and loved and lost; what his passing thoughts were and his sorrows and desires...exactly what happens at the moment.
There is never anything such as writers block, kiddo. There is too much going on around you. Just "See".
"When I use a word," Humpty Dumpty said in a rather a scornful tone, "it means just what I choose it to mean -- neither more nor less.
"The question is," said Alice, "whether you can make words mean different things."
"The question is," said Humpty Dumpty, "which is to be master -- that's all."
Alice was too much puzzled to say anything, so after a minute Humpty Dumpty began again.
"They've a temper, some of them -- particularly verbs, they're the proudest -- adjectives you can do anything with, but not verbs -- however, I can manage the whole lot! Impenetrability! That's what I say!"
"Would you tell me, please," said Alice, "what that means?"
"Now you talk like a reasonable child," said Humpty Dumpty, looking very much pleased. "I meant by "impenetrability' that we've had enough of that subject, and it would be just as well if you'd mention what you meant to do next, as I suppose you don't intend to stop here all the rest of your life."
"That's a great deal to make one word mean," Alice said in a thoughtful tone.
"When I make a word do a lot of work like that," said Humpty Dumpty, "I always pay it extra."
You know I am an avid Dive Bar Verses reader...leaving my random comments for you when your words have ignited the drive within me to do so. Otherwise, I read and move on - the colorful story you paint always lingering for some time (as another commenter stated). Always thought-provoking, always brilliant and always a good read - with plenty of colorful visuals left for the imagination.
Yes, I find you are an egotistical fuck at times. Dark. Somewhat bitter. Abysmal. Confused.
Utterly talented.
All a part of your undying charm and what brings me and others back to the Dive...craving more...addicted.
However, this comment you made...
There is also a lot of shit out there... self-indulgent pretentious gossip blogs. The "oooh, look how cool I am! Check out how wild my life is!" bullshit. Or the scores and scores of political blogs. Yada, yada...CRAP.
Seriously. Who are YOU to call other blogs CRAP...and so openly? No, not everyone in the world of Blogdom is as talented as you and other great writers (a few, which I admire greatly) in Blogworld. However, lest you forget these are your readers, Hermes, before you so easily insult? Readers ready to spend the $34.95 for a hard-bound cover of your first release? Before you, me and the millions of others blogging, there were those who called themselves escribitionists. Before them, there were hand-written journals and diaries. Just like a diary, each blog has the personality of the weblog owner. CRAP to you might be something beautiful for someone else...created merely to share stories with their families, to pour out thoughts, escape, whatever. Nowhere does it say on Blogspot..."Looking for great writers. Apply within. Serious inquiries only."
Anyway, it's getting late and I am rambling...my point can be found somewere throughout piranha's 3 comments. I'm sure of it.
Ciao.
Monsoux. Wan't it Polonius who said: "brevity is wit?"
Complex Girl. Again, thanks.
Desolation. I've found the best shit this brain has ever churned out was written at 4 am as it swam in booze and God knows whatever else. I'd sit down in the dark and just... type. Uninhibited releasal of ideas and thoughts and emotions. An emotional being/monster. It is only in this state that I'm ballsy enough to click 'Publish' and let it all fly with zero hesitation.
I know you always write like this. And that is admirable. And that's why I keep coming back. It's so fucking raw yet at the same time masterfully told.
Brighter Death. Checks and balances dear.
Red Egg. You are right... and so is Carly. There is romance found in the wind, the rain, a sad song... or even the daily struggle of the meth addict who tweaks, finally sleeps, and then dreams in the park under the stars, shivering, clutching a glass pipe as she once held a teddy bear. A sad, hopeless, tragic romance, but a romance nonetheless. I see it. Because I also find beauty in it, strangely.
Isn't it?
Now allow me a moment to figure out how to scale this wall.
Vis-a-vis. I don't know you, or perhaps I do? Anyhow, if I could manage to make my words work the way they should, I'd gladly pay extra. Lately, however, more and more, I find a factory of lazy workers asleep at their posts.
Or perhaps I need to start working for them? A drunken fist-fight with a gay biker and a midget may help.
Exploring. O.K let me back-up three spaces and try and explain/rationalize what I meant by that comment. I'm not shitting on these "types" of blogs. For there are a few out there where someone is genuinely trying to say something and is honestly documenting the travails and conquests in their own lives. Yes, I respect that. And if the words have meaning, or strike me on a personal level, I'll typically flag it and come back... but probably not comment. Just lurk.
However, it seems more and more these days, everytime I click that "next blog" button I find abysmal CRAP. I truly do. Pyramid schemes, stupid shallow teen blogs with horrible templates, gossip/fashion blogs... ooooh, check out my new Blahniks, or my Coach bag, or... OR I ran into Topher Grace at the _____ club last night, I'm so fucking cool... they're a dime a dozen and I dare guess they certainly don't read MY blog. They aren't MY readership and I'm completely fine with that.
Bottom line, my blog is probably SHIT to lots of people who accidentaly stumble upon it as well, I know that. "Another man's trash..." or so they say .
"Other writers intimidate me, better writers, including myself. I reread old pieces of mine and shake my head in disbelief at how slick I might have once been."
I hear you brother.
No comment. Because you don't need another.
I come because I want to and as long as that and access and a place to access remain...but I'm not societised...join the gang.
And the only reason you got what you did from me on Blog Explosion was because I don't give high marks for tecchie stuff unless you want to tell me you've created the perfect os. In which case: Where TF is it?
No reply needed!
Tattooed Brain. Glad to see you're still around.
Jonny. I reply because, like you, I choose... As brief as your comment was, I also know you've sifted through my entire repetoire of words with a fine tooth comb. Yes, it's true. If I satisfy your critical eye then I may peacefully die and my spirit roam to be seen in sad poems and billowy clouds of fairy smoke. Poof!
Blog Explosion, what's that?
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