“Just write. Something”. Ok, I’m writing. About what I don’t know.
The above request/admonishment was posited by the one of those few readers who for some silly-ass reason seem to think that they’re missing something due to my hack-scrivener’s sabbatical.
Truth though is that I miss telling stories. And I thought that channeling my writing energies into more industry articles and white papers for my consulting business would yield more…business. Come on. If at my peak, I could get between one and two thousand knuckleheads every day to read my “oh look at my cute daughter and these crazy ass pants I had Flusser make and oh-my-damn-goodness how they just make these papier-mâché Belgian loafers pop”—then surely I could become more of a thought leading presence in my professional space, right?
And of course there were those once per month maudlin ditties about my mama who won’t die or my daddy who left me nursing an intractable, open wound in my heart. Oh, and the divorced man uber-father “your daughter is so lucky to have a dad like you” cries. If I didn’t make somebody’s ass cry at least once per month I felt like I wasn’t hacking properly. Can one cry out of their ass? Shut up.
I can now say that after these many months not blogging, the opposite has occurred. We are amidst, albeit still a blessed one, a very slow business year after five back-to-back bell ringers. Causation-correlation? Hell, I don’t know but it seems like a good enough excuse to write maybe a story per week. We’ll see.
Oh, and the tumblr thing hasn’t helped at all. It’s the monosodium glutamate of digital media. It’s a truncated no-brainer for me and it poaches visual cues and ideas that pre-tumblr would have become a blog story. Should I shut it down?
Is my Mojo limping back? My Groove sputtering towards a restart? I’d like to consider myself one who never really needed a groove or mojo to churn out sausage-like, the volume of caca that I did before. But I can unequivocally say that I’m about as mojo-less at present than I have been in ages. Am I trying in some kinda half-ass way to believe that if I start the time sucking five hours per week writing blog stories, my overall mojo will improve? I’m having a harder time rationalizing this than I do when justifying the dosh to pop for a pair of bespoke Cleverley’s.
Less was never more for me—you know that. My A.D.D. gift—and it truly is a gift—always precluded any level of editorial discipline when my blog posits were strung together. That’s why you’d get one story that involved shoes, Robert E. Lee, Dover Sole, LFG’s squawking clarinet concert, the banishment of madras and GI Joe. And you’d tell me that the twisty-turny-ness of it was great. Wonder if they’d be better or worse if I stopped taking my meds?
So what will I write about? Maybe the fact that after one year of living in in my Bethesda Cottage Minimus, my move feels kinda like LFG and I planned thoroughly and collaborated precisely on a party and nobody came.
Or perhaps I’ll bemoan any kind of change or progress, even though as a consultant and teacher, I get paid to deal in, facilitate-incite-offer glimpses of its inevitability.
And maybe I’ll lament the transitory nature of life and I’ll use LFG’s started two weeks ago, freshman year of high school—I still can’t believe it—as my latest pain point.
Three more years and she'll be packing her bags for college. Damn. She was just learning to write her name in cursive when I first shared her with you.
And there’s always shoes. And lately its been kilim slippers...that are becoming mainstream faster than Belgians did. And this ain't a good trend.
Can't forget Shell Cordovan. There's always something to say about horse hide.
Or Bernese Pooches.
I'm over the top in love with this breed and I will have one.
Maybe a ditty about beards.
And why I can't seem to let mine grow beyond 3.5 weeks.
Or the first eye exam I had in six years--couldn't pass the highway department eye test--and the fact that progressive lenses are the best invention since central damn air-conditioning. Oh, and contact lens--the newest lens material/technology is great.
And the kick-ass resurrection of Bookster and their new and improved fishtail trousers--a waistband affectation that if everybody else starts wearing, I'll ban in a heartbeat. Shut the ....
Or the admirable, Dorothy Parker doppelganger-esque wife of Todd Hog Howell--the gal who in my own home, during her first visit, flicked a booger on me. Oh, and she nicknamed me "D-Bag" within twelve hours of plopping down her girl supplies in the bathroom. Damn.
Oversized houndstooth? I can. You can't. Nobody should. Shut up.
And art...with the never boring back story, sleuthing, learning, correlating missions that sometimes even the most twee and insignificant sketch offers me.
Or the fact that I'm not a hoarder but I can't throw anything remotely sentimental away.
And books...and the fact that this book-per-week-at-least (with meds) can no longer finish a book.
And my mama—at least for a while longer.
So let’s see what the next few weeks hold. But should I dump my tumblr?
(Thank God there’s not a 3rd one)