Tuesday, December 10, 2019

Nobody Cares

Hey, y'all. I'm back. Yes, it's been a very long time. And I'm sorry. Not sorry. Well, I'm mostly sorry. Not for those people who don't read this blog, but for the dwindling number of those who do. God bless you for having nothing better to do than read my sanctimonious drivel. It isn't all drivel, but enough of it probably counts as such that I am being nicer to myself than needed.

I was going through my Gmail today, deleting old shit, wondering how I get off of certain auto emails (hello, Pinterest and Facebook...stop emailing me with every single notification. Damn. I get it.) I saw an email about this domain being renewed and told myself I was wasting money. I should either write or shut this down.

But two sides of my brain started battling before I could make an informed decision. I don't even know how much this damn thing costs me each year. I'll assume it isn't much. You might know I'm not one to waste money on something other than my motorcycle.

Anyway. Keep it or shut it down.

Nobody cares what happens to this blog if I'm being honest. I don't make money from it. I don't use it as a platform to do anything other than tell you what I think and hope you find what I say important enough to read to the end or refrain from rolling your eyes. LOL. Jesus, I'm self-absorbed. But that is the way I'd think ANY writer would or should be when it comes to their own creations, no matter the genre or if they're being paid to espouse them. I used to get irritated when people read my writing and dared to give me critiques or 'helpful suggestions'. Pretty sure I was an asshole about it. What the hell do you know what I was thinking when I created this masterpiece? Uh, well, it's shit. Hahaha. I was such a dick then. I'm still a dick, but at least I come at critique from a different, more adult, angle these days. Hell, I have five pre-readers of my novels whom I ask to pointedly give me what they like and don't like about the book. It makes me a better writer is what I tell myself. Hopefully, I'm not doing it for nothing - maybe their advice and critique and suggestion help make my books easier for other people to read and enjoy, as well.

But nobody cares what I write.

Or so I thought. The blog is a different animal. It's nichey and small and something you have to seek out. I don't think I get much word of mouth advertising. And that's fine. This platform, if you go all the way back to the original Magnolia Rambling posts are all about what I wanted to write as it hit my brain. That still happens. And it's still good. But just as I moved on from judging readers and reviewers, I seem to have shifted a little bit from the original intent; I'm not focused on not being focused. It started to feel as though if I WASN'T pontificating, it wasn't worth putting down for you to read. That's a lot to deal with. I stopped writing for a while on this because it became something of a chore. Hell, that's why I haven't written a novel in four years. Writing has turned, or had turned, or is turning into a chore. And that's no fun. I want it to be fun. It might not always be funny, but at least writing should be fun. Fuck if you agree with me or if you don't think I'm crazy. On some level, I'm super crazy. And I love it. Will you ever know the real me? Probably not. That's a little too dangerous still. Society isn't ready. But because nobody reads this blog I could admit to being a 2 on the Kinsey scale, or a serial killer, or addicted to painkillers (pour one out for Prince), or anything. It's whatevs.

I've written three novels, and the other day I was tagged in a Facebook post by an old friend of mine from high school. He was hoisting a copy of my latest, 'The Rest Is Still Unwritten' and said he was excited to read it and that he would give a full report. Before I knew it, people in his network (some shared with me, some complete strangers) were saying they wanted to read it, too. I am always humbled when someone spends their hard-earned money on a gamble - I am always nervous they'll hate I've created. But several of our shared friends co-signed and said that he would love it just as much as they did. Wow. Heart full. I hope that sentiment is contagious and he really does love it.

So nobody cares until you find out they do. That's probably how I'll approach this blog in its next and maybe last phase. Just write what I want (hello, intent) and fuck anybody who doesn't like it. Or read it. Until they do. And hope like hell they love what I've put in front of them.

I might need to see a mental health professional. Chris Stapleton is in my ear scream-singing his Traveler record. Very appropriate.

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