At least, I think 11 to midnight is the witching hour. Maybe it's midnight to 1. I probably should have researched that before I decided to title this post as such. Oh well, maybe I'll fix that before I hit the post button.
At any rate, I've decided to make myself write between 11 and midnight on as regular of a basis as I can. If I'm ever going to actually get paid for things I've written, I'm going to have to write them. Not much of a self-discipline kind of guy, but maybe that can come with practice.
Provided I'm successful, it won't necessarily mean there will be a daily post. Hopefully I'll get into writing fiction at some point. If/when I do, I'll be keeping the story/whatever as a draft until it's finished even if I'm working on it every night. For now though, the rambling post this is and you may see over the next week or so is just public accountability. Knowing that people can see I'm doing what I intended to do is a good way to encourage myself to keep doing it. Not that I'm positive I have an audience...
I've been debating splitting the things I want to write into separate blogs (man I hate the word blogs). There's several different categories of things I want to write - rambling nonsense like this, how things would be if I were running the show, straight up fiction, maybe some poetry. Part of me leans toward keeping those separated on the grounds that if I gain an audience, the audience that enjoys my fiction won't necessarily want to see the other categories. On the other hand, if I split everything up it makes a lot more work for my stalkers that do what to see every word I unleash upon the unsuspecting public. Decisions, decisions.
As some of you may know, I already have a blog separate from this one. That sort of writing certainly shouldn't be mixed with the rest...though I'm not sure if I'll ever been inclined to write another piece like that. One certainly has to be in the mood for that sort of thing, and I don't seem to be in that mood much anymore. When I think about writing erotica on a regular basis, hoping that it's good and sex sells...yada yada yada, I keep coming back to the notion that it would get repetitive pretty damn quickly. Story starts, dirty part, climax. Repeat. There's also the possibility that to make any money doing it I'd have to write for men rather than women, or drape a romance novel around the dirty bits.
All in all, I prefer the notion that other products of my mind will be entertaining enough to be a job. I think I like being entertaining. I'm positive I like having an audience. The bonus of text being that I could have an audience that isn't staring at me - and that I could perform in a bathrobe or without showering for weeks on end. I wouldn't though, skip the showers that is. The idea that I could is certainly appealing though.
I'm fairly confident that my writings could entertain some people...though I sort of believe that even this rambling would be a mildly entertaining read, so there might be delusions of grandeur at play. It's always seemed to me that I see the world differently and think differently than most, which lends me to think that to most people the spewing of my brain into text would be something interesting, different, and unexpected.
Even if that's true though, I'm certain I have a great deal of bad writing habits to overcome. I'm positive I comma too much. I hate proof-reading, particularly if it's something I just wrote... and I also want to get things out there in front of people as soon as possible in the hopes of getting some feedback or validation. I'm not sure when I should be starting a new paragraph most of the time. So at some point I'll need an editor - but I'm a bit worried that without one the money to get one will never come.
Damn, an hour is a long time...and I type fast enough that this is turning into a long read, which I suspect will be a turn off. By this paragraph I've probably lost at least 40% of the people that start reading this. Or not, I really can't say.
I want to tell you something, and I think it's because it's wrong and I do it anyway - and I'm kind of proud of it. It's nothing much to be proud of, but here goes: When I'm making a list in a sentence, I intentionally don't do the commas the way I understand they are supposed to be done - because I think it's dumb. Let's see if I can do an example and not get it backwards...
I like swimming, hiking, beer, and writing.
See, I'm pretty sure that for the above sentence to be grammatically correct the comma after beer shouldn't be there. It doesn't feel right to me to do it that way though. To me it makes it seem like beer and writing aren't separate enough - sort of like they were track and field or Abbott and Costello. So grammar and editors be damned, if you continue to read my drivel (please, please do. I need you) you'll be seeing that particular unnecessary comma quite a bit.
I like that about English though, it's malleable. Meanings of words change, grammar can change too. I'm pretty sure I read that somewhere once. I know the first part is true... if the Flintstones were a new cartoon I can guarantee there wouldn't be a "gay ole time" in the theme song.
I'll keep it short as I'm starting to bore myself with it, but I'm really hoping that the . between dates takes off. I like 7.29.2011 so much more than 7/29/2011 or 7-29-2011...and I'm not certain why.
Technically I still have 22 minutes left (and I cheated and took a smoke break right before that "comma" spiel), but I'm definitely feeling that this is getting too long and I should wrap it up. I like it though - not this particular rambling itself based on its content, but doing the writing. It feels like I'm having a conversation with a stranger or lots of strangers. Though technically not a conversation, it feels as though you're here and listening to me. That I'm speaking more than typing and you're hearing more than reading. I'm not sure who you are. You could be a supportive friend that is humoring me, a complete stranger from the internet, my child or grandchild...or even great great grandchild.
That's powerful stuff - it feels like I'm creating something permanent-ish. I fully accept the reality that it's likely that less than 10 people read this, but there's also the possibility that thousands of people could - and that's very exciting. Part of me thinks that the only person that will be reading this is my future therapist trying to better understand the nature of my insecurities, and a smaller part thinks that even the therapist would have moved on to some other writing by now - or to his favorite television show.
There's a tinier part of me than that though, and that part believes that you're reading this - whoever you are. That you've made it this far and you'd go another 30 pages if you had to. As you're among the few that will have made it to this paragraph, I can tell you a little secret. You're the reason I'm writing at all and though I may never meet you, or know that we shared this special moment - to me it is a special moment, and I am so very very thankful that you are here.