Sometimes I just don’t have anything to say that’s worth saying. I know that in the blogosphere, this is often no barrier to publishing; Jesus, some of you cunts publish three or four blogs a day, usually just to tell me how you have nothing to write about. I’m trying to be different, though. Trying to have some integrity. And I’m fucking lazy, obviously.
I’m not lazy, per se. I just look lazy. Same goes for my C.V/Résumé. That isn’t actually empty; it just looks empty. So yeah, I’ve been in a sort of Editing Hell for the last month. This has consisted of some very intermittent spell checking, continuity editing and dialogue polishing. I also was the Best Man at a wedding where everyone expected me to deliver the goods with my after-dinner speech. Somewhere along the way a Google fault, followed by a clean sweep of my laptop’s temp files, led to me losing 2,000 words of final draft text. It was clearly a surprise attack by Karma/Fate/God, to avenge all the hilariously sexist remarks I’ve ever made about women being no good with computers. I did the real life equivalent of Chandler Erasing Ross’ Keynote Speech. I might as well be your dad, downloading mywebsearch toolbars in exchange for a ninety second clip called ‘BRACES TEEN HUMILIATION DOG BUKAKKE ILLEGAL RUSSIAN MPG’.
I’ve just about got back in the swing of things now, which is why I’m able to write the blog again. I’ve regained the ability to write, and I’m rollercoastering through the text, often stopping to make up words like ‘rollercoastering.’ It’s important that I got my mojo back first though. I couldn’t come here empty-handed and talking about ‘Being A Writer’. Jesus, I’m self-employed, registered for tax as a full-time writer and I’ve written an 80,000 word novel, and I still don’t feel comfortable calling myself a writer. It sounds wrong, and pretentious and insincere. Luckily for me, the rest of the internet doesn’t fucking trouble itself with such humilities. My hiatus from blogging has been mainly spent reading the God-awful blogs of others, mentally spell-checking the inane/insane ramblings of The Most Uninteresting People To Ever Own Computers and learning a valuable lesson:
It doesn’t matter what they do; it only matters what you do.
I was spending far too much time getting furious at the horse shit other people were putting out; being appalled at the self-delusion of people for whom elementary school grammar is but a far-off dream; seething at the gullibility and low standards of the people who follow/love said idiots. That’s no good. That’s just wasted energy. Other people have always been cunts; it’s not a new invention. Oscar Wilde’s entire body of work is basically him using his bottomless pool of wit and wisdom to say ‘People, eh? WHAT A BUNCH OF SPACKERS.’ It doesn’t matter, and it doesn’t affect you. Even if you become the greatest writer on earth, Stephenie Meyer, Dan Brown and EL James will all sell more than you. Tiao Cruz and Flo Rida will probably sell more records than Jeff Buckley. Do you see Jeff drowning in self-pity? No, because he drowned in a river.
So, from now on, I’m concentrating on the positives. That’s how to keep the creative spark going; hate will only take you so far. You cannot write a sympathetic character with a mind full of negativity. Every time I have a negative thought, I’ll exhale slowly and push it out of my conscious stream, keeping it clear for me to float on down. Every time I hear a criticism, I’ll try to find the constructive value in it, even if none was meant. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still be calling people cunts and making inappropriate jokes about children’s vaginas. But I’ll be doing it positively. I dunno, I’ll wear a fucking smiley face t-shirt or something.