It’s About That Time

Even though it’s not reflected here in my productivity, I’m always thinking about this blog and I always have ideas and things I’d like to write about, but I’m never able to muster up the energy to post them until a number of them gather so much steam in my head they explode all over the page here. That usually results in one of those random bits and pieces blog posts which are fine sometimes, but not all of the time. In this day and age of small attention spans and the move to shorter and shorter fiction and writing in general, I’d like to explore longer thoughts here.

I’ve been reading a lot of Jonathan Ames lately and it’s been good for me. Had I not married and had children I can see myself ending up writing the sort of non-fiction pieces he’s famous for relying mostly on ridiculous honesty and putting ones self in situations for no other purpose than to write about it. I still try to do that, but as a married father of two little kids, the opportunity to put myself in any situations other than work or sleep are rare enough, let alone selfish situations to fill my writing urn. And with all of these new family members depending on me and having expectations of privacy that don’t always fall in line with my own, the honesty has also taken a hit. But I soldier on with an increasingly melancholy voice, looking for any crack in the status quo to exploit.

My thoughts lately, framed in an Amesian context have been on publishing. I contemplated a post that served the dual purpose of congratulating Greg Bardsley for his fantastic book deal and serving as a memorial for Borders, but I couldn’t find the right way into that piece, so here we here. I shouldn’t be writing any of this seeing as my open manuscript in progress is still 190 words shy of meeting my anemic writing goal for today, but this is the way my muse was leaning so I followed the old broad to see what could come of it. I can already see this post devolving into a rambling mess, so I should probably pull out to avoid impregnating the internet with my scatterbrained seed.

Before I go though, one more thing my thoughts have been needling is social networking. I’ve been to Google+ and invested more time looking around there than any other place since Facebook, but still, I don’t hate Facebook enough to really look for a replacement yet. I love Twitter and that still serves as my social media HQ, but my blog was my original social network. Before both places, I communicated with my friends through blog posts, comments, and such. Actually, even before the blog there was the Mystery Writers Forum bulletin board, but good lord that dates me so.

Sometimes I wish I could muster more of the energy I had eight years or so ago when I first started sniffing around the online mystery community but I had the opportunity to go back and read a healthy selection of my writing from back then and my did I want to smack myself upside my head. There was certainly energy but there was also a grating amount of ego and forced personality that I hope has dissipated over the years.

Nowadays my style is more depressing, and less funny than I’d like. I’m always comparing myself to other bloggers and writers, but I think I’m more readable now and I think I have a more mature style as a result. I’m less apt to blow off on petty rages and more likely to present thoughtful analysis of the minutia of my life. While it remains to be seen what that means for the ultimate future and success of this blog, I think it works splendidly for novel prose which is where my focus needs to be these days so all of these other questions of social networking, and deals, and publishing futurcasting can take on a more practical edge.

Note to self: you just wrote almost 700 words in this post while you remain 190 words shy of the 400 word goal you set for the novel that is supposed to be the priority.

UPDATE: I did in fact meet my anemic 400 word goal. Go me. Now I have to go home and clean the house so as not to scare away my mother from further adventures in babysitting my children.

2 thoughts on “It’s About That Time

  1. I’m sorry too Patti. I wish Becky would have been able to meet Megan, but the babysitting gods were not smiling on us so we had to bow out. RIP Borders, viva la Megan.

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