Leap

Why in the hell did I decide to follow my passion?

Oh, that’s right. That whole rant about my “sovereignty.” Well, that came back to bite me in the ass.

I’ve taken my leap. Not a very high one and nowhere near the deep end but I’ve jumped. I’ve kept up with this blog (admittedly there were a couple of weeks I missed) and I just launched my first serial last week. Both of these ventures are a way for me to flex my writing muscle, get more practice in, experiment with how and what I write and to showcase a little of myself. It has been an incredibly rewarding process so far. The fact that I can see everything I’ve posted and get metrics back on how many people have read and liked what I’ve written is amazing. I am truly humbled and terrified at the realization that those numbers I see behind-the-scenes are actual, living, breathing people who took four to six minutes out of their day, their life, to read the silly words of some amateur. It is something I am still processing and something I don’t think I’ll ever really be comfortable with. (But thank you, thank you, thank you and know that I will do my best to honor your generosity by bringing as much value to you as my talents will allow.)

What I hadn’t counted on was the marketing part of all this. I knew from the jump I would have to market my own work. I get that traditionally published authors still have to do a lot of the marketing legwork themselves. I understand that this is the price of poker. But some part of me still held out hope that it wouldn’t be this much work.

What I’ve really struggled with is engagement. I’m on Twitter, I’m just not saying shit. (That isn’t fair. Let’s just say, not a lot of shit.) And this isn’t to say I haven’t made any progress, I have. I picked up several new followers last week. (Thank you as well. Your presence both invigorates and intimidates the hell out of me.) I just feel the whole thing is odd and I know that feeling is something I will have to overcome because I am not going to be making things easier for myself. No, no. That’s not how I operate.

I have plans, Dear Reader and they involve throwing myself out there even more. I intend to put out a podcast tackling a range of subjects in the near future and I’m looking forward to launching a YouTube channel as well. I’ve also been working on some marketing strategies that I am dying to employ once I’m ready to publish my first book.

The bottom line is this. Has all this been difficult? Yes. But at least I’m struggling for myself. This isn’t “day-job” bullshit, this is mine. I own it. My success or failure is a direct consequence of my action or inaction. Period. So what if it’s hard or it makes me feel uneasy? If there is one thing I know about myself, it is that the more pressure I put myself under, the more I fight to push through. Guess I’m just a masochist like that.

Writer’s Blocks

I’m sitting in the living room with some of the worst writer’s block I’ve ever experienced. I usually throw my hands up and shut down my laptop when it gets this bad but I’ve decided to press through the congestion in my mind. I don’t intend for this to make sense nor do I think the following will be worth reading. I just want to spite my writer’s block.

As I stated above. My normal response to this much noise in my head is to disengage. I’ll meander on to YouTube and watch some videos. Nothing specific, usually Fail Army. That’s always good for a laugh. Or I’ll play some video games. Grand Theft Auto is a favorite. Always a go to distraction when the wheels grind to a halt and I can’t string two words together without feeling like an abject failure. I’m listening to Bach but it isn’t helping much. I’m getting a sort of hodgepodge of prose. Very disjointed. Still better than the stalemate. I feel like taking a drive to clear my head but I’d probably end up in Omaha, Nebraska. Sleep. Sleep is always good.

I wonder where this comes from. I could say it’s out of the blue but I doubt it. It’s obviously a mental state. A lack of flow. (Hence the terribly jagged sentences.) I’m going to go out on a limb here and say one of the factors is pressure. Pressure to produce, to be good, to make sense, to know what you’re talking about. Nothing is good enough right now. I’ve been flirting with the delete button way too much lately. I want to start over. It’s strange. I feel it’s a bit immature. Like a child flipping over a board game just before losing. It’s not that what I’ve written isn’t good, it’s that my mind simply cannot accept its current grade. Who knows. Maybe I should throw everything out and start over.

I think a good night’s sleep will help. Some coffee in the morning.

This couldn’t have come at a worse time. I need to stay on track with my writing. I’ve got goals to reach this year. And maybe that’s all of it. The severity of my success or failure. Maybe this is me freaking out over that realization. The further away I push my thoughts the longer it takes to produce and the safer I am. No exposure. The words I bleed out onto the page are spared those prying, judgmental eyes.

Here’s my conclusion. I’m going to look at this as another obstacle to overcome. The words have always dried up here and there. That’s nothing new. My real concern is the pressure. Which is probably the least of my worries and I should focus on the lack of confidence in my abilities.

I have to forgive myself for sucking. We all have to start somewhere. Zero is where everyone began. Take it easy.

I hope to look back at this one day and feel tenderness for the person writing it. We’ll make it through ol’ chum. By wit or grit. We’ll make it through.

Creativity stifled is torture.

Commitments: 2017

I’ve chosen the word commitment over resolution because in my warped little mind words matter. I’ve resolved plenty but my success rate on those resolutions has been bleak. So I am employing the power of semantics to fool my mind. My commitments are as follows:

A whole lot more engagement on social media. Taking that first step, simply joining social, was a huge accomplishment but now comes the difficult step of being social. I’m great at face to face, in fact, I prefer it. Attaching some quick quip to someone else’s ongoing conversation seems invasive to me, like a man yelling out his opinion from a window at his neighbor’s dinner party, unsolicited and overestimated in value. Yet, I understand that the medium exists to share one’s perspective, valuable or not. Achieving a higher level of engagement is going to be very awkward for me but it is something I must learn to do and a challenge I look forward to tackling.

Create a schedule. I have a lot to do and all day to do it. The issue with that circumstance is prioritization. I am terrible at sticking to a schedule. I’ve developed a strong distaste for authority and the rigidity of a schedule stirs up that disgust. But I know creating and sticking to a schedule will allow me to maximize the time I have and do good work on multiple projects. Creating when you’re inspired is great but creating when there are no words is the mark of a professional.

That’s it. Two powerful commitments that I know can change my life and will directly determine my success. It isn’t about having a list of tweaks and improvements, it’s about fundamentally changing my philosophy and approach.

So I commit to you, the Universe, that I will be a much more active player on social media and I will suffer through the rigor of a schedule in order to take the next step in my evolution.

Here’s to 2017!

A Year in Review: 2016

I know I didn’t expect to be here. Oh, allow me to explain.

I’ll skip all the boring resolutions I may have made (may have because I honestly don’t remember if I had any) back on Friday, January 1st and delve right into the good stuff.

On September 25th I recorded my first ever podcast with the Cinema Bushidoboy’s Matthew Whitaker and Mr. Lee Van Cleef in which we discussed the groundbreaking film that is Deadpool. (Sidebar: Give a listen to ’em boys, they’re doing it right) At the beginning of that episode (which never aired since we rerecorded the podcast) Matthew asked for my social media information as part of my introduction to the audience. I had none. Which was embarrassing. But I pressed on and though I was very timid to speak (which if you met me in real life you’d know isn’t how I actually am — I gnaw ears and pussies off), horribly unprepared and full of self-doubt and loathing, I came out the other side grateful for the opportunity to sound like a jackass. It was great and I am truly thankful to Matt and Lee for having put me on the spot. At the same time, I felt my lack of social was such a missed opportunity so I set out to do something I never wanted to do; join social and engage.

On August 8th I joined the “Big 3” Twitter, Instagram and Facebook. I stepped into the jam-packed arena that is Twitter with my first tweet: “One more baby step toward the future I want.” at 1:04 p.m. It garnered 84 Impressions and 14 Total Engagements, whatever the hell any of that means. On Instagram, I posted my first photo:

with the caption: “Goodbye Corporate America!” I was off to the social media races, full of piss and vinegar. Slowly, this newfound moxie waned. These arenas boomed with the sound of so many voices. I felt disorientated and with nothing to say. I still struggle with this. Maybe it’s my generation or the fact that at my core I am a very private person. Yet I’m here. Out in the open, exposed to the elements, willing to put up a fight.

On November 7th I posted my fist blog on Medium. After having read so many articles I decided that I should try my hand in this arena as well. Lord was I wrong to do that. My first post: Why I Can’t Call Myself An Author received 12 views and 4 reads. A meager ratio of 33%. I knew I had to take the hits so I posted a second blog a week after titled: Time. The One Thing You Have Too Much Of. 2 views. 2 reads. Ouch! But at least my ratio was 100%. Tiny victories. You’d think by now I would have given up but I am a complex human being (by which I mean stubborn of course) so I followed my abysmal numbers with another blog entry entitled: Too Stupid to Quit. 25 views to 2 reads. 8% ratio. I think Medium wants me to quit but if it had read that blog post it would know that me quitting is not an option for I Am Sovereign. Still, this experience of sharing the dank labyrinth of my mind here has been a kick in the teeth. A kick I desperately need. I’d never allow numbers and ratios to determine whether I continue something or not but I do respect them. I am fully aware that they have something to teach me and if I hope to survive in this space, I must decipher their language.

Enough dates and facts, let’s pontificate.

2016 has been a milestone year. These accomplishments may seem insignificant to others but they are huge for me. Had someone told me at the beginning of the year I would be active on social media and writing blog posts I would have, characteristically, denounced them as crazy. But as I read that previous statement over, I can’t help but think it’s self-doubt disguised. I would hope that I’d believe the very best of myself but perhaps I’m not there yet. Believing in oneself is, at times, a difficult proposition. It’s why I’m writing this post and will continue to do so year after year. It’s a chronicling of sorts. I’m able to log my progress, my thoughts. I can revisit them at a later time and see, in detail, how far I have come.

I’ve fought hard. I have moved forward. But this battle has no end. It will continue so long as I do. The face of the Enemy will change from season to season but my Enemy will remain constant, steadfast as I do. But as this year closes around us I think, perhaps there is no virtue in winning our war. Perhaps the only virtue we can hold to our heart is having had the courage to fight our war at all.

Too Stupid to Quit.

I am an exceptionally stubborn man.

Sicario, which is still very much a work in progress, is a story I have worked on for years. My best friend and I came up with the idea back in high school. I had just been cheated on by my girlfriend and he was finally ending a short lived but very toxic relationship of his own. We were newly liberated singles out to make villains of our exes. He and I drafted G-Brothers, a title that to this day I haven’t the slightest idea what it meant but it would be our first foray into creating a comic book. At its core, the story centered around our fictional personas and took on several versions, with some being funny and others carrying a much more serious tone. We added characters, mainly girls we liked and as it progressed from its laughable beginning, I grew to like my little characters.

Then my best friend decides to up and die. Cunt.

I was left with these tiny people in my head who could steal away my thoughts and lead me down the broken paths of their sordid little world. They grew beside me, maturing into three-dimensional characters with their own strengths and weaknesses. I was always working on them, even when I didn’t write a word. This cast of five characters became my darlings. Developing their life story, figuring out the nuances of their personalities and trying to pin down what motivates them has been a deeply rewarding process and I’m proud of how far they’ve come.

I’ve often said, I’m just too stupid to know when to quit. It’s the truth. When presented with a circumstance in which any other rational human being would throw their arms up in the air in sensible surrender, I simply squint my eyes, grit my teeth and attack it from a different angle. Obstacles are an affront to my sovereignty. That’s a highly arrogant statement but it is one I believe. Had I not this single-minded, dogged determination to trample all opposition underfoot, I would have abandoned my dream of becoming an author long ago but I cannot forsake my darlings.

I often wonder if this resolve is actually helping or hurting.

One could argue that I’m beating a dead horse. That I should cut my losses and take whatever sliver of dignity I have left to my grave and call it a lie lived well enough. Even if I finished their story, there is no guarantee those tiny people tumbling around my head will be read by anyone. Maybe this is as far as I get. Perhaps that grand divide is too wide. It could be insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different outcome.

But my sovereignty.

Read me out here because this might be as beneficial to you as it is to me. I say, fight on. Fight because, at the end of it all, you are going to die. And all those people whose life you’ve touched, they will also die. And there will come a day when the fact that you existed at all will be ground up in the endless churning of time. Fight on and take solace in the fact that one day the sun’s corona will consume the Earth in fire and its gravity will rip each atom in two. Understand that the universe is tumbling toward entropy and all which it contained throughout the ages will dissipate into cold nothingness.

I’ll end with this.

There are no alternatives for me. I must continue. If I can beat down that wall, my pigheaded obstinacy was a blessing of a sickly mind. If I cannot, then it will have been a curse. I look forward to the challenge and patiently await the day when I will know which it was.

Time. The One Thing You Have Too Much Of.

I will never be capable of completely explaining this but when it came to writing, “I’ve got plenty of time,” was my mantra.

From a very young age, I’ve felt time was on my side. Throughout my life I have been a great proponent of patience, of understanding the value of delayed gratification, of stopping frequently to smell the roses and stare off into the distance. I muse; tirelessly. This too, what I’m currently writing and what I hope someone out there is reading, same as above, one more pause of quiet contemplation.

This philosophy of endurance has served me well. It’s kept me out of trouble with the law by curbing every spasm of rage I suffer, taught me that singledom is simply waiting for my best possible partner to come my way, to use three forms of contraceptive no matter how hot and heavy things get (if you don’t have ’em, suck dick and eat pussy kids, it’s good for you and if anyone tells you otherwise, they’re lying) and to not take life and its setbacks too seriously.

It has been a wonderful way of living but the era of time and its infinite length came to a close when that same passive voice reversed its position. Now was time for action.

And I have acted. I have begun to take my writing seriously and have come to the understanding that my success as a writer will directly impact the quality of life I will lead. I don’t mean this in a strictly financial sense but in a very profound and personal manner. For me, to write is to live. It is my purpose. Through the word, I hope to connect past the grand divide which isolates me, to posit ideas into the collective and perhaps, have an impact on this grand experiment known to us as life.

To all those who may feel ensnared by lethargy, that believe they have lived much and accomplished little; be compassionate with yourself. You have got plenty of time. There are no minimum age requirements, we don’t have to be first and we certainly don’t need to apologize for having taken the long road. In fact, perhaps the only prerequisite is that we endeavor at all. Try for as long as it takes and try as hard as you can at any given moment. You will fail. Accept it. Look forward to it. It will sting and when it does, take some time to heal, to sit in reflection of the injury but be sure to get back to the business of attempting and failing. So long as you are actively pursuing your dream, it doesn’t matter if you took the long way round.

Time. It’s the one thing you have too much of so expense it wisely, forgive yourself when you don’t and always follow your passions.