There is nothing snarky about today’s post. It’s a terrible piece of writing, and there is hope someone calls me out on the mess that’s written for the Syracuse New Times. I don’t want to boost it, or boast it, but I’ll do the former because everything cannot be gems. I love the compliments, but I love complaints just as much, and I’m wondering if the SNT readers are too timid to tell me something sucks.
Thank you to my editors at the publication. I owe you big.
However, the readers…
Hey, at least Malone didn’t curse today, they’ll say.
Hey, at least he shortened this piece today, they’ll say.
Whoever they are….
There will be some disgusted folk, and they will be questioning SNT, why the alternative newspaper took me on as a blogger. Keep in mind, this is news, I’ll be contributing on Thursdays as well.
This forward is to let all you dissers know that I’m in the same boat as you, but I get to come down on myself in the mirror. I’m courageous to call myself out, looking myself in the eyes.
Feed me to the lions. Bring me to the guillotine. Off with my head.
Are you not entertained?!?
No, Russell. I’m not.
I knew what I wanted to write about. My cousin’s comment about perception resonated so well, and it was an easy gift from the world of inspiration. This was Easter Sunday. I had the second round of going through the novel I’ve been editing, so I knew the post would get done Wednesday evening. Ideas were mapped out. It was personally anticipated to create this monster of a post.
However, one idea one-upped into another, and others followed suit. The metaphors got too big to the point where they were being explained (tsk, tsk), and the post did turn into Blueberry Hill without the thrills. After scrapping the first draft, I found myself working on the 9th or 10th on Sunday evening. I scrapped that, reworded it, and struggled through the final draft on Monday. It was like churning Play-Doh through the toy grinder, and the gunk jams the cheap plastic toy.
Ty, the digital media guy for the SNT, slapped me around a little bit, reassuring me that 1) the artist in me was appearing, and (2) writing is definitely a passion of mine, and (3) I am here (living and breathing) to write or communicate (at least).
Still. Considering my personal growth, I should be better than this. However, I’m beating myself up over… nothing.
Many other bloggers are feeling the same way. I’m not going to mention them, taking the conservative route here, because there is no intention of making them feel like I’m throwing their writing under the bus. Damn you, Christopher, you knew I’m in this funk, they’d say. Yeah.
So, enjoy the mess. Here is my latest at the SNT: http://www.syracusenewtimes.com/this-show-is-a-life/
Anyways. By a show of hands (or comments?) who else is feeling the Spring Cleaning Blues with writing brain farts?
We’re all here for each other.
I play with words and invisible objects.
A mind, a pen and a piece paper have the best relationship ever.
"Remember this--if you shut your mouth, you have your choice."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald