Monday, January 18, 2016

Pulling My Pants Down to Fart

I'm undertaking a lot of work for fun. I've purchased a domain name, I've purchased hosting services, and I've started a WordPress account. This is all to collect all my writing activities online in one hub. All my North Korea posts (I'll figure that out later), all my travel writing (Iceland's complete; Ireland's next; then I resume chipping away at all the SE Asia entries), and whatever an editor's portfolio is supposed to look like.

I've been published. I've sold a couple dozen erotic fiction short stories. One of my humor pieces was accepted by a literary magazine. I think that's about it, I haven't worked too hard at this, I have to admit that.

In fact, I was researching information on Iceland, and my specific line of inquiry drove me right to my own travelogue from 2008 on this blog. So rather than reinvent the wheel, I went through all my old posts and pasted them into the new travel journal. But I also reread the interstitial posts, the asides as I caught up with my life in the moment.

I had a lot of aspirations and no follow-through, that's what I see. I see a couple friends I had great affection for, with whom I no longer speak. Out of hostility, not attrition. I also see that many more people used to comment on my posts eight years ago, that's something different. I can't delete this blog again (and I wish I hadn't the first time) because this is actually a valuable record of stuff I'd like to keep track of. My friends said valuable things.

I also found a comment by another writer. I didn't know who he was back then, and he's much bigger now, but he made a point of negatively referencing my blog posts and directing hostile users to a couple of my blogs. I don't think I did anything to him personally, I was just convenient to pick on when he didn't feel like writing a full article. And they wouldn't pick fights here: I'd notice a spike in my stats and look up where traffic was coming from, and it was always from him. I could find the "wow, this guy's an asshole, huh?" post on his blog and the link to something I'd written.

I let that discourage me way more than I should have. I'm not going to blame him for my choice to stop writing, or to stop pursuing a serious career in writing, even if I've deleted most of my blogs.

My fucking blogs. That word is suitably ridiculous sounding, yet I brandish it as though it were viable currency. Fuck me.

Today I had a day off. I'm finally working in an office that acknowledges MLK Day. I spent the day copy-n-pasting my old Icelandic travelogue into my new "professional" website, with photos and geotagging and everything. And it's done, and no one will read it, but I will continue this work until it is all completed. I may not fully understand the utility of WordPress, but I'll get it. And even if no one acknowledges my mediocrity, and I never push myself to be an adult, I will complete this action.

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