a year

A fucking year.

Well. Close. I last posted on (checks notes) October 19th, 2021. 


Well, what happened? Where did I go? Why was I not putting out that genuine content that very few read and even fewer care? 

I’m better with lists. So, let’s make one.

  • Got married
  • Honeymooned
  • Traveled a bunch for wedding stuff
  • Planned a lot of wedding stuff
  • Did bachelor things
  • Worked at my real job 40 hours a week (that was hard)
  • Got COVID twice
  • Read a bunch of books
  • Other stuff

There’s no one reason why I stepped away. It was a lot of things happening all at once. I liked blogging. I enjoy the act of writing without need for extensive drafting, editing, and seeking publication. It’s a good way to get out some of the cobwebs that come when you are constantly creating something that has purpose beyond your own entertainment. 

The blog is just for me. You can read it. But not many people do and that is okay. It’s nice to have this space to be whatever I want it to be. I can review, bitch, update, advise, or make lists about things that people don’t care about.

It’s a type of freedom we don’t often get when writing a story that needs to have a beginning, middle, and end.

And, if I were forced, I would tell you that last year I had spread myself thin. I was writing the blog, working on stories, writing for a website, and trying to cobble together an academic collection of essays that consistently demands more time than it is worth. My mind, my fingers, my keyboard were overworked. I had reached a point where things had to stop. I need to breathe, reassess, and really re-focus myself on what I should do, as opposed to what I could do.

Because the truth is that I could do it all. I could write for every outlet. I could lay down 500 words a night on stories and then find time on the weekends to submit all of it. I could write this blog every week and find new things to say. I could go and go and go.

And, in some ways, I did. I went too far. I started to feel the cracks from pushing myself to be doing too many things at too many times. Some people can do it. I can’t. I break. The seams form and then mentally and physically, I began to lose my stability. 

So, I stepped back. I stopped writing for the blog, the website, and I abdicated control of the edited collection to my co-editor. Space was needed, so I took that space for myself. Did I need the entire year from the blog? I don’t know. Maybe. Time for myself, for my new wife, for my life outside of producing words for the sake of producing words was in demand. 

And I think I found that. There’s a type of peace in knowing that you have reached your own breaking point. You find your limit and you can finally see where, why, when, and how you managed to go beyond what you could handle. It allowed me the opportunity to see a bigger picture and to think about what is most important to me. 

And, to no one’s surprise except my own, I don’t find joy in producing content for no reason. I hate the idea of content. I hate writing something that has no real purpose for me. I relish in the moments when I am connected to my writing. It’s an art form, after all. I may be more of a workhorse than I am an art-tist, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t get pleasure in creating something from nothing. But that’s not what I was doing. I was creating nothing out of nothing. Spreading myself thin in the hopes that doing everything would get eyes on me, bring me something that I didn’t have before.

And, to no one’s surprise except my own, it didn’t work that way. I didn’t get anything more than what I got when I went silent on this blog, stopped writing reviews for websites, and passed over control of the edited collection. Didn’t get anything less either. Things remained the same. 

So, I am back and relatively still the same. I’ve grown. I have new goals, new ideas about writing. I have different aspirations and definitions of success. I’ve thought critically about what is most important for me right now and how to maintain my self through the larger work that surrounds a life that has at least some artistic aspiration.

I’m back on the blog too. I miss the space where I could speak long form about things that matter to me. I’m not here out of obligation or need. I don’t operate under the assumption that anyone is out there reading this stuff. 

So, what does that mean for this space? What happens to the mixtape?

It starts with not worrying about a release schedule. I don’t care about frequency anymore. There’s no point to pushing out nonsense when there is no reason to do so. So, I’m giving up on that.

It also means that what comes here is going to be different. I don’t want to write something for the sole purpose of posting. I want to write something if it has a larger meaning. You’ll still get weird shit and the occasional liner notes for a story that I have published. But, for the time being, this space is dedicated to my writing when I decide to publish. I’m sorry, but this place is for me now. Not for anyone else. 

Finally, I have been thinking about doing some essays about writing. I’ve nearly finished a book and learned a lot. I’d like a place to write those types of things and I think here might be good for it. TBD, TBH. We’ll see. Everything is possible and nothing is off the table.

But as for what it will be, who knows. I’ll let you know when I do.


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