Here I am, starting this little blog.
For the fourth time.
That means there were three other times where I got the itch to write, started writing, kept it going for a couple months, and then life got in the way and I forgot or just stopped paying attention. And I managed to abandon it as soon as I started building a small, regular readership. Why did I keep doing that?
I used to write a ton. I studied philosophy in university, for which I must have written dozens of papers of varying lengths. I always loved this style of prose: it’s deliberate and analytical, but can also be underhanded and sarcastic depending on how you’re treating the topic at hand.
My award-winning magnum opus—if an undergraduate essay could ever be called that—was a 60 page nightmare of a read on why the notion of something being greater than the sum of its parts is an illusion rooted in semantics and wishful thinking. I enjoyed writing that paper so much that I was able to complete and edit it in its entirety in a single ten-hour marathon, punctuated by nothing but trips to the bathroom and meatball sandwiches from the library cafeteria.
Those were the days, and as much as I miss them, they could never last. The problem with being a student is that it doesn’t pay the bills; it in fact creates them (and very large ones at that).
My first professional job was as a technical writer. If you bought a BlackBerry Pearl, you might have read my work: I was the guy telling you not to eat the silica gel packet or dispose of the battery in a fire. I love technology and I love to write, so I figured that combining two things I love and making it into a career would be deeply fulfilling.
As it turns out, technical writing didn’t mean writing about computers, it meant writing like a computer. It was also during a period where industry leaders and consultants were actively pushing an extreme minimalism approach. Every technology outfit was now paying experts tens of thousands of dollars to teach its employees how to replace eleven words with five.
That was the last time I wrote regularly. Since then, it’s generally been only where necessary. When I get the chance, though, I almost always go overboard. A simple wiki page will turn into a 7000 word handbook. Someone will ask me to review something they’ve written for an industry publication, and I will find it difficult not to rewrite large sections of it not because they didn’t do a great job, but because I was excited about speaking in a different voice. The itch is still there.
The first iteration of this site was a news and editorial project with political commentary. That one failed when I grew tired of arguing with people.
The second version was pure satire, which was more fun in a way but surprisingly a lot more work; not only did I need to think about each joke, I had to tie it back to an actual commentary on the original material. I was extremely proud of the consistent quality of my work and I received some excellent feedback, but each post took hours to write and I found it difficult to devote the time.
The third version was the product of a time in my life when I had a lot of anger and resentment about myself, my job, my life, and pretty much the whole world. It was very cathartic and served a purpose, but came across as a long, insufferable rant suitable only for commiserating with others anonymously.
I’m now trying again. This time, I’m not trying to fit a mold or stick to a theme. I’m just going to write what I want to write on my own terms. Given that I’ve shuttered most of my social media accounts, it will be infinitely harder to promote. Though I must admit, the last five years of my life have been great without Facebook in it.
If you’re interested in what I have to say—or how I say it—tune in and please accept my thanks. Want to support me? Share whatever you find interesting. If I notice a certain type of content receiving more views and shares, I’ll produce more of it. I might even add some videos and interactive content.
Our lives are actually not all that different. We all experience the same emotions and face the same challenges. The only difference between a regular, everyday human being and a celebrity are the stories being told about them. The better the story, the more interesting they become. You might never become a famous actor or musician or athlete, but you can still tell your own story any way that you want.
This is mine. I hope you’re entertained.
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