Unless I become very inspired, this is most likely the last post of the year, but it might as well be my first since I haven’t been posting much. A large part of that is due to my crappy job. They’re now tracking my internet usage, so I don’t visit WordPress at all from work. I don’t want anyone there knowing about this place. But, another chunk of non-posting is just not knowing what to say.
Blogging is one of those things that, the more you do it, the easier it is. If you don’t write that much, it’s harder to come up with things to say. Perhaps it’s just that, when you post infrequently, you want the words you do post to be profound. When I was posting nearly every day, a lot of the posts I wrote were throwaways. It didn’t matter, because I knew I’d write something else tomorrow.
I don’t like not being here. I miss my people and the connections I’ve made over the years. I fantasize sometimes about winning the lottery and having all the time in the world to post. That would be nice, but I’d probably have to play the lottery to win it. Though, if I was a multi-quartrillionaire, perhaps I’d find better things to do with my time like polar bear surfing or walrus riding. I’d need to find that sweet spot of enough money to write full-time, but not enough to slack entirely.
This is the 1,359th published post on this blog. That’s rather impressive, but when you consider that FOG has existed since 2009, not so much. Next month, FOG will be celebrating eight years. It’s hard to believe, but there it is. It’s amazing that I’ve stuck with it that long, but lately, it feels like I haven’t. FOG is barely surviving on life support with posts trickling in only every few weeks. I’d like that to change.
Blogging is not the only thing I’ve let slide lately. I haven’t drawn one of my animal doodles in a very long time, nor have I been contributing to the word count of the Great American Novel. It stands static at around 20,000 words, which coincidentally, is about as many words as I’ve written on all the other half-started books I’ve tried to write. It seems I just can’t break the 30K mark.
The scenes with the little blue circles next to them are first-draft finished. The grey circles are first draft written, but not complete or edited, and those sad little scenes without any circles are essentially just placeholders. Then, there are the scenes that aren’t even there yet, which is about half the book.
Between Fuzzy and Squishy, and The End, there are about 50 more scenes that move the plot forward, and that’s exactly what’s missing. My book has great characters, a lot of humor and some inspired writing (even if I do say so myself), but it doesn’t really have one of those plot thingies yet. It has an idea of a plot, but not a concrete one.
I’m waiting for the moment when I’m walking the dog, taking a shower or driving and my brain says, “A-ha! That’s the plot!” and then I set about writing another 30,000 words and, voilà, book. Alas, that hasn’t happened. I do think about it all the time, but so far, no eureka moment. My life has been lacking in eureka moments pretty much entirely.
The holidays have always been a dreaded time for the social anxiety disordered misanthrope that I am. I don’t like social obligations and that’s all the holidays are. Really, I like to keep my head down until January 1st when I can breathe again. Any time I have to go out in public from Thanksgiving through New Years, I get very short-tempered. Everyone is in my way. But as of today, we have two down and only one to go.
This time of year, humanity reflects on the past year and decides whether it was awesome or entirely crappy. For the past few years, most of my reflections have landed on entirely crappy. Though, I will say, 2016 couldn’t possibly have been worse than 2015, when the love of my life died. 2015 goes down as top 3 worst years ever.
Anyway, I just wanted to take a second to wish all of you who still visit this dusty old blog a happy whatever it is you’re celebrating. Here’s to a better new year chock full of eureka moments.