Sunday, June 7, 2009

Fear and Loathing in Rockville (By Way of Konstantin Gavrilovich)

(To be read tongue firmly in cheek - lest you start to drool.)

I just got caught in my own trap.

We've been having a bit of an issue with posting on the site - mainly that we want something new up every day, and that hasn't been happening. So at our last TG meeting I suggested the position of Assignment Editors to the group - two people who would help keep us all on task and accountable for providing content individually on a weekly basis. They'd suggest ideas, monitor the output, and give those of us that need it a kick in the pants. The group agreed, names were nominated, and all was quiet in the kingdom.

Until tonight, when I just got a call from my editor asking for a post by tomorrow. Given the inanity of my current schedule that means tonight.

Fuck me, I'm my own first victim.

So here I sit, in my empty new room, struggling in front of my computer screen with one overwhelming problem staring me blindingly in the face -
I have nothing to say.

Which is of course, a lie.
I have a lot to say.
But very little I feel comfortable saying.

And suddenly something becomes very clear to me. Time has obviously been a factor in my lack of posting.
But so has fear.

Boy does that suck.

It's a deep and multi-layered fear too. Sometimes I feel I've lost faith in myself as a writer - both in terms of the quality of my prose, but also the strength of my voice (which sounds distant, forced, and formal) and my ability to make a point. Which ties into my One Kiss post - when I was so proud of this beautiful, metaphoric language (one clenched fist rises triumphantly into the air) I had come up with to describe the act of a first kiss and the possibilities contained...
and yet the conversation basically devolved into "Ew! Kissing can be icky."
Not quiiiiite where I was going.

So I have this need to write things I think are important, whatever that means, and so as much as I love reading about comics and music I feel like my writing about them now would be a waste of time. Insignificant. I should be using my writing to create beauty, or tragedy, or insight - an anecdote that Shines A Light on some part of the Human Condition.
There needs to be a point. (Imagine a really big hand gesture here.)

What an inane amount of pressure to put on a blog post, you know?
But there it is.

Stupid deadlines.

So again, here I sit, pontificating on my own neuroses - which is so self-serving it makes Emo look like Art.

But Steve's the one who called me so blame him instead.

3 comments:

Stephen said...

First.

Dialectric said...

While you ponder the possibility that you actually NEVER HAD anything really worth saying, and the Universe has just been really sort of patronizing you, look up the spelling (or the definition) of the word "inane." (or insane"). Then take me out for a beer.

ali d said...

I love it when you write about comics. It’s fascinating to me, and I genuinely learn things that I want to know and otherwise wouldn’t necessarily seek out myself. Is it more important that we’re saying something that’s deep and meaningful to us, or that the readers are intrigued? Ponder and go.