I know it's late, but I'm really glad you're here with me tonight, dear reader. I've been waiting a long time to do this with someone and I'm glad it's you. I can already tell how special our time together is going to be. I know you'll treat me with the intimate care that I deserve, and I'm going to try my best to make you feel amazing...
A weirdly intimate sexual metaphor to start... yep, that about sets the tone. Popping my 'Blog Cherry'. Ha. Good one, you rascal. Though if you know me, reader, you'd know that I already lost my virginity in a college dorm room to a redheaded lesbian while both of her roommates pretended to be asleep. And if you didn't know me, well now you know just a tad too much. Anyways this will be my altogether ridiculous dribble of a Blog. As described, (so there's no funny business going on, you know what you're getting into, dear reader) this blog will serve as my morning pages. If you don't know what that is, I'll tell you.
Morning pages, serve, to a writer, as a way for them to "warm up" for the day. Athletes need to stretch before they practice, actors need to do a bunch of weird vocal exercises, and sigh, and clap their hands, and a bunch of other useless garbage while you desperately try to recall that line that you always manage to say incorrectly before the show starts-- and writers need to remind themselves how to write. Each and every day. Constantly. Reteach and Relearn. So this blog will serve as my morning pages. I know I know "It's like 2AM". Well reader, this will be an irregularity. It's morning when I damn well say it's morning. And, I say with delightful bombast, "Let others hail the rising sun, I bow to that whose course is run!"
But really, I will make diligent efforts to post at least a daily thought or two. Mostly, as I stated earlier, to warm up my brain, or to unleash some egocentric diatribe in reaction to some insipid (one of my favorite words) Facebook post, or family crisis or mainstream happening. So not to get too "Meta" but I'm sure a lot of this blog will be a whole lot of me writing about my writing, or talking about the process of not being able to write yada yada boohoo... So if you, yourself are stuck as I have been, (as we all have been) with creative anxiety or fear or any of the other fun monsters that hide under the bed of us creative types-- maybe this blog can tap into something you may need to hear or feel, but you just can't quite put a finger on it. I can totally be that finger. WhoOoowaa, Charlie.
I've been taking writing seriously for quite some time now, and have been making wonderful strides despite my ambivalent feelings toward my work, and my sometimes unpredictable bouts of self-loathing, bitterness and fear.
I am writing a novel.
It is difficult.
Words are hard.
Send help.
Send pizza.
This is my epitaph.
I have felt recently that something has been missing. After moving back home from Brooklyn to my beloved Berkshires in Massachusetts, (Oh we'll get into that, I'm sure, dear reader) I have spent more than six months away from the cacophony of concrete that is NYC, and sunk back into the serene, undisturbed bedrock of my home. I realize now that I miss humans. I try not to "do social media" because I get massively addicted to it and end up hating myself because I spend all day comparing my life to yours (yours is better, and you are undoubtedly much more attractive than I, the lonesome, bearded recluse.) BUT, dear reader one thing is for certain I am an artist and performer at heart, and an artist needs an audience, or he's just an insane person, and that's how I have been feeling lately.
So yeah. I need attention. I need to entertain. I need to offend. I need to exercise my brain and get reconnected with the ol' interwebs. Most importantly, spending so much time analyzing ones brain, dear reader, can leave one wishing he could cover up some of the thoughts that he went and uncovered. In short, isolation can do some funny things, so rather than take a bath with a toaster, as was my original plan before this, I'm just going to write about it. And I DON'T CARE IF YOU EVEN READ THIS OR YOU DON'T APPROVE OF WHAT I'M WRITING (he says, desperately hoping you'll read this, and approve of what he's writing.)
Anyway, I'm going to be doing this nonsense with or without you. reader, because, to be honest, I'm rather enjoying myself. That is to say I'm enjoying myself in this particular moment. Tomorrow I may wake up in a fit of desperate rage and pretend this never happened, WHO KNOWS AMIRIGHT?
So more about me. I'm a left handed weirdo from Starkfield Massachusetts (10 points if you get that literary reference). I'm a writer, or at least that's what it says on my tax forms and health insurance (thanks Obama *rolls eyes*.) I love to read. I'm assuming you, dear reader, are at least curious about reading as you are here now, reading my whimsically meandering thoughts. I am particularly interested in reading and discussing fantasy *insert shameless plug to tell you about my ongoing fantasy writings here*. I love pizza, dogs, and Radiohead (not in any particular order). I tend to exaggerate stories and I'm a horbabler speller. I'm always working to improve my voice as a writer. I often tell hyper-masculine stories when I feel threatened to make up for how silly and effeminate I can sometimes come across. I once convinced a girl that I played midfield for the New England Revolution so she'd sleep with me... In the end it's not that she didn't believe me, it's that she was more of a hockey fan.
Well, dear reader, I thank you for stopping by, and I look forward to continuing this newfound way to express my thoughts, and to be able to communicate with you. Feel free to reach out, or not. Maybe you'd like to suggest a topic, or ask me a question, or discuss something I've talked about. Maybe you want to tell me to go drown myself for bombarding you with my ill-begotten, disconsolate opinions. Or maybe you just want to say hey. But I hope you can find some joy or even inspiration from my words. It might just simply be "wait, if this fruitcake is doing something he enjoys, maybe I should work on something I enjoy too!" and if you can't do any of the above but still find yourself reading this, well that's cool too because then you, like me, are dead inside and will probably just check in to "Letters to Lunacy" for some wasteful, cynically-induced injection of crippling irony. I LOVE READING THIS BLOG BECAUSE IT'S SO UNREADABLE.
Anyway, here's that thing that when said by a writer sounds like every ounce of ego-vomit they've ever projected... "Hey, check out my BLAAAAGH".
-CjM
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