I gave it up today as a lost cause, but because I spent so much time on it and don’t want it to go to waste, here it is anyway:
To the extent that this blog was set-up to give me a kick in the arse and bootstrap my off-line writing, it’s an unqualified success – I am going great guns through several episode outlines, and should have a rough draft in a few weeks.
I’m really happy about this. I mean, you have no idea – it’s like getting a hard-on after six years of penile dysfunction. I can’t stop fondling myself and blowing great spunky wads of wordsmithery all over my Powerbook. Which, granted, is not a pleasant image, but at least it’s safer than trying to actually make love to my laptop.
Regrettably, the inevitable result of any obsession is the neglect of other concerns. In fact, I believe that is the exact definition of obsession, so what an idiotic sentence.
My resolution to post every day has been exposed as the sham rhetoric it always was, just as I’m starting to get somewhere (ranked fourth on google.co.uk for TV Sluts, somehow). But this doesn’t mean my love affair with Blogger is over; that I’ve spurned her with the smell of fanny still on my fingers.
All the same, I do have a problem in deciding what, now that I’m getting ahead again, The Light, It Hurts is actually about, and why I should keep it up. I could continue tracking my progress of course, and will, but as for the rest of my entries…ask me what they should be about and I get that unique feeling of dread usually experienced only in those terrifiying generic dreams where I’ve forgotten the first line of Lear, or turned up to an exam naked, or find myself devoid of genitalia just when I’m about to get my shit on with girls I had a crush on at school (that is generic, right? You all get that one too?).
Take away the self-motivation and what’s left? A random sampling of blogs yields the following thoughts:
There is no fucking way I’m about to start blogging my job. It’s a continual source of self-loathing, and I durst not expose you to that misery, gentle reader. Otherwise I’ll be sacked. Again.
I do have a social life, but I believe it’s better to just live it and move on, rather than rub your face in my fabulous glittering lifestyle and risk a hail of sour grapes.
I’m not going to be yet another linkmachine. Who wants to visit ten blogs and see that same damn links on every one? The blogosphere’s got its Kottke and BoingBoing for those who lack the steel to set out on the internet’s wild highways for themselves. Besides, my explorations usually terminate at porn sites, so you wouldn’t want to be pecking at my seed-trail.
Everyone and their fucking pet hampster already have an opinion on – among other things - oxygen starved Cypriot pilots, Cindy Sheehan’s Crawford jamboree and Brit-Cit Judges (they killed an innocent man because someone was having a slash. Could you make it up?), so who in their right mind would want mine?
And that’s as far as I got with this fucking idiotic waste of my precious time. You can see why I don’t get invited to many parties, can’t you? No links to dumb-ass websites, no half-baked opinion pieces? God’s eyes, man, is this a blog or isn’t it? Have some fun! I ceased my bitch-ass self-censorship not only because it was heretical nonsense, but because I realised something while I was writing it that made its completion unnecessary. A good blog is a gateway. To the very greatest wonders of the web and world, and to the mind of the blogger. So fuck it. I’ll do whatever I like and let it be random. And stop being so embarassingly self-conscious.
‘Cos for heaven’s sake, is the web really the place for self-consciousness? There are something like 15 million blogs out there, so it takes misplaced hubris, or a basic misunderstanding of the web’s mechanisms, to imagine you’re ever going to be noticed without making an enormous effort to pimp yourself.
So do that: read and comment on other people’s blogs, find bloggers you like and link to them, make yourself, your opinions and preoccupations known, start making friends and influencing people and this can be great fun.
You can’t blog for yourself, you have to open up and allow others to have some say over what shape today’s content is going to take. I read a couple of blogs over breakfast and then spend my time at work composing responses to them. In some cases they’ve got me thinking about things I haven’t considered in years, if ever. I’ve ended up publishing a post espousing opinions I never know I held, cobbled together from half-remembered magazine articles, and realising with some elation that, yes, I do think that way, I do believe what I’m saying, there is a process taking place here helping me to know myself better.
I can get behind that.