Pan-Handling Wisdom.

I think I've been going about this “writing” thing the wrong way.

Initially it started with NyQuil-infused short stories. Fun! Then it moved onto emo-diatribes. More recently, it has been a service rendered in hope of getting payed. Because, shit, I want easy money too. I'm not above it at all. I was reading a friends blog and I realized why I like it. It's because the word “pretentious” didn't pop into my head once. It sorta reminds me of this interview I heard with Ben Folds, my gay lover, and he was talking about <gasp> song writing. I'm just going to paraphrase. Ben said that he hated listening to songs that were always using pronouns like “I” and “you.” These songs are pretty obvious ways to get some attention.

You go through a shit breakup, queef out a sad song with barely-veiled references to your own station and hope some hugs come your way. I just can't do that. I am going through a shitty time in my life, break up included; haven't written a single fucking song. Why? Because the “I” in that song just doesn't want to hear it. Songs are like books, they should tell a story, not espouse your misery. Company doesn't want misery. It's one of the hardest parts of breaking up, I think, watching the “Sad Movie.” My Sad Movie is The Fountain. If I watched it right now, I'd be in tears for the next couple days...cause really good shit like that will make you cry! It's a story, so fucking tell one!

The same goes for if you're writing a blog, the “I” is there inherently, we know that, we clicked on your page and saw the banner. Now tell us a story, won't you? That's why I respect certain friends of mine who write. That despite having what should be a really ego-centric piece of the internet dedicated to themselves, these folks still manage to include the rest of the world. A blog is not an autonomous digital island. We don't get to be alone anymore, we have to many things. Things that constantly keep us in the know. Things that incessantly tug at our curiosity in a nearly infinite realm of information and accessibility, we're just as much prey as we are hunters.

There's a certain degree of...out-of-mindedness...required to be a decent writer and that's because you and-I-are-alive. We bring it all with us into that little digital bubble. All our frustrations, the good stuff, the mediocrity, and everything in between. But “pretentious” should never pop into my mind when I read something bloggy-like whether it be from a friend or from myself. I have stockpiles of BS entries on my hard drive that'll NEVER see the binary like of day because...they suck! They're loosely-knit stories that reek of Me.

I've always heard this line from all the great writers, “you should never be content with your own writing. It should always be shit.” True....-ish. As an expression of ourselves, and if we have self-esteem which many writers do or they wouldn't feel confident enough to bare themselves online, then shouldn't we at least take some pride and satisfaction from our creations? Aren't we, (“we” being anyone who considers themselves a writer) deserving of credit, props, ass-slaps, and a “good game?”

I suppose this is more about berating myself and finally shirking off some of the weight of feeling like they all have to be hits. I've had friends tell me that I should “keep writing.” They mean this in the same way that if you're getting good at eating hot dogs fast, you should keep eating hot dogs. I love writing but for so long, I've felt like I had to produce something really great or nothing at all. Shades of gray are only now being introduced into my life, in a painful way, and the tendrils are seeping into the writing cortex...and that's cool. I like the idea of just putting something out there and saying “fuck it.” If you don't like, don't read it. I spent the last 28 years trying to be a people-pleaser and look where it got me.

I can't guarantee you, the reader, any nuggets of wisdom or truths you don't already know. I can just do my best to express what it is I see happening around and inside of me and keep you and I from saying “pretentious” by the end of it.

Oh, and by the way, I wrote all of this while I was on the toilet.