Starting Over. Again.

I’ve had many blogs in some form or another over the course of the past few years, but one thing has stayed irritatingly constant… the stark white background that represents my canvas, and the blinking cursor sitting atop it that represents my not knowing what I want to say.

Are you ready? Here’s a peek into my thought process.

In the small, quiet hours I can think of so many things I want to say — things that I want to tell the entire world! — or at least things I think the world needs to hear. When the moment comes, and I’m sitting in front of that cold, vast void that I’ve declared my own to fill, I come up empty. During my daily life, I’ll think to myself about how I should write a blog post about egg noodles, or how I should write a blog post about not really understanding why any given thing is the way it is.

What can I say? The world and all it holds are mysteries to me.

I’ve often used a blog as a way to vent, too. I took a sick joy in spewing out flesh-eating diatribes against the everyone and everything that I decided in my own (closed and underused) mind was wrong. A little word of advice that I learned the hard way… just because you don’t agree with it doesn’t mean it’s incorrect. Morals are not binary. It took me more than 30 years to learn that simple lesson, mainly because I’ve been a very judgmental person in the past, which I’m going to blame with a nudge and a wink on being raised a Southern Baptist.

In reality? It was just that I am was scared to death of everything and everyone.
Humans fear what we don’t understand, because… well, we’re hardwired to. The hypothalamus gives us two options when faced with something we don’t get but are sure is going to kill us, and on present day Earth, everything is going to kill something. Take raisins. For us, they’re a great, moderately healthy snack. For dogs, though, they’re poison. For us, yummy dried grapes. For dogs? Yummy kidney failure. Eat this, not that! Oh wait, we’ve been wrong for the past 20 years and you should really be eating that, not this. In the 1940s cigarette ads used doctors to tell you how ridiculously smooth their product was, and that you’d be a damned fool not to smoke. Now we understand a bit more about the fact that cigarettes, much like the air in a heavily populated metropolitan area, will kill you until you are dead, and medical professionals no longer tell you that smoking is the coolest.

You know what this is? A literary leitmotif.

I’m not going to use this blog to complain. I’m not going to use it to talk about things that I don’t like. I am going to use it to talk about things that interest and/or confuse me, which should offer a deep enough well to last for years to come. For now, though, I really just want to thank you for reading. I probably don’t know who you are, but since you’re ready this, I’d certainly like to, especially since you made it this far.

Hi, my name’s Erik. What’s yours?

Re-ignition

WHEN I AM EMPTY PLEASE DISPOSE OF ME PROPERLY

I’ve settled into a comfortable dissatisfaction as of late. I don’t really seem to enjoy anything. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m apparently stagnant by nature or if I’ve managed to wring out the last drops of fun from the activities I once held dear. I’ve seemingly lost the capacity for creative thought. It is my sincere hope that doing this, the simple act of posting something, will rekindle the interest that I once had in writing. I’ve given up on so many hobbies in my life… drawing, writing and recording music, collections of various things, writing in general… and I wish that I hadn’t. I wish that I still found time to occasionally put pencil to paper and draw. Or at least stylus to Wacom, I guess. I wish I had time to practice my guitar. I wish I had more time to write, too. I quit doing those things because the finished product in each case never came out the way I wanted it to. The way I saw it in my head. I had an idea of what it should look like, sound like, say… and when I was unable to produce that, I simply quit. I hate everything that I create, really. Except for my son, of course. He gets a pass because he’s the most beautiful child in the world. The question remains, though… is this my lot in life? To have a great imagination with no skill whatsoever to back it up? Maybe by forcing myself to blog, and to blog about this, I’ll get over this hump and the juices will start flowing again.

Inspiration… I Have None.

CG depiction of Gollum created by Weta Digital...

GET OUT OF MY HEAD.

I’m up against a wall here, people. I’m cornered and they’re closing in fast. My predicament is this: I’m starting to wonder what exactly it is I have to say.

I’m stumped. I’ve beaten my head against what I can only assume is some bizarre wall made of writer’s block for a few days now. How do some of you seasoned pros handle this? You know, that feeling like anything you write will be stupid, pointless, and/or other derogatory adjectives? That gnawing thing in your head that convinces you everything you’re thinking about writing is a waste of time… and sounds suspiciously like Gollum?

That’s what I feel like I’m up against. How do you more experienced bloggers fight back against that feeling? What is it that keeps you going?

I’m scared of blogging!

Carnival of Souls

It's a lot like this.

I’m sitting in front of one of the most intimidating things I ever see on my monitor.

A blank page.

It’s my job, as the owner of this blank page, to make it not blank anymore. Fine. The only problem with that is that it paralyzes me with fear. What if no one reads it? Worse yet, what if people do read it… only to tell me how stupid it was? What I have difficulty with is keeping those words on the page. I’ve written hundreds of blog posts over the years, only to choose “cancel” over “submit” when I was done. I simply don’t think that anything I do is good enough or interesting enough to warrant someone seeing or hearing it. The number of times I’ve recorded stuff and deleted it has to be in the thousands now. So I create stuff, and then destroy it before I’ve given anyone the chance to tell me it sucks. Ultimately, I want very desperately to make something. I consider myself to be a creative person; I’m just trying to find the right medium to get that out. Music is one way that I’ve experimented with, and still do… but I can never seem to get out exactly what I hear in my head. I spent years drawing, only to have the same thing happen. It just never looked like it did in my mind’s eye, so I eventually quit trying and moved on. Aside from film-making (which I’m realizing I actually do have an interest in) the only things I have left are cooking and writing. Seeing as how I’m much less likely to burn anything down or accidentally slice my face off by writing, here I am.

Tomorrow I’ll start writing like myself.