The king of all that is unfinished

Snapshot_20091201 I had been sitting here staring at a blank blog post for a few minutes now when I was struck a painful illustration of a fact about myself that drives me crazy. (The photo is meant to represent that I’m so counterproductive as to be unshowered for the whole of the day.)

To post these blogs, I use Windows Live Writer, a program that compiles all your blogs into a single program and offers a word processor for the purpose of writing entries. It’s not exactly necessary – the program is essentially the interface on your blog, so why do you need another interface that mimics your interface? – but it does afford certain upsides, such as being able to write offline and post later with slightly less hassle, and it works like Microsoft Word, and it was free.

I mention this because one of the nicer functions is a handy quick-action bar found along the right side of the post, which lets you quickly open the blog, or its dashboard, or stuff you’ve recently posted among several blog sites (I like it when I get lazy and share things between here and Wrath of the Damned), or unfinished draft blogs you’ve started and saved.

Sadly, I have a pile of such blog posts. Among their titles:

  • The king of all that is unfinished, in which I describe my propensity for using just half my ass in any given situation.
  • Gamestop, in which I started to complain about how badly I was treated at Gamestop the other week when I bought “Left 4 Dead 2,” but ran out of steam and decided to just quietly boycott rather than bother outlining my somewhat shallow reasons for it. (Suffice to say, I feel like those clowns repeatedly and extensively rip off me and everyone in the subset known as video gamers, who deserve to be treated well given who they are and how they’re treated by everyone else, and not exploited by some fat corrupt corporate bastards.)
  • A mystery spot inside a time warp, in which I started to do some investigative journalism about some possibly wonky workings in the Village of Holly’s local government, concerning the town’s very small police force and its employ of Dodge Chargers as its police cruisers. But it was a lot of work and didn’t seem like it was going much of anywhere. I also may need to exercise the Freedom of Information Act to finish it, and we all know what a hassle that can be.
  • The journalism industry, in which I was hoping to expound on an idea I started recently, partially to complain about the state of the industry in which I am trained and no longer really wish to be a part, partially because I’m sick of people crying about losing their jobs when it seems clear to me this is both a temporary setback and a necessary function of a crappy industry cleaning out the crap.
  • The reign of the benevolent government, in which I was going to complain about members of my generation specifically and people in general and the B.S. they spew about politics, about trusting their government to “take care of them” when they should be vigilant and irritated, and stumping for politicians because they voted for them and are therefore married to them.

So that was a little depressing. In addition, I’ve been in a dumpy mood lately anyway, as it’s been 10 days or more since I wrote for National Novel Writing Month. This is significant especially because today, Nov. 30, is the last day of NaNoWriMo, and I am well below the arbitrary finished novel mark of 50,000 words.

And that also was a little depressing.

This isn’t the first time I’ve failed to finish something that formerly was important to me. I’m well-versed in the, “hey, what a great idea!” portion of writing something, but not so much in the “yes, I worked really hard and now I have something to show for it” portion. Which is interesting, because for years I was completely unable to write anything shorter than 10,000 or 15,000 words and have it be complete, and therefore always wrote long, and therefore wrote a lot of long stuff. (I’ve since fixed that problem, and I’m starting to find myself with the opposite one, as I’ve trained myself to write short and now if something stretches much more than 4,000 words, I’m sort of impressed with myself.)

The worst part of the writing business, by far, is the business part. It’s the part that irritates me with journalism and the part that keeps me (relatively) unpublished as my body of work grows larger. Every so often I’ll get the itch to try to make something of myself, edit the hell out of some stories, ship them off to magazines and have a good time waiting for rejection letters to show up in the mail. It’s both an epic pain in the ass and a fair disappointment. Which is why I don’t usually do it, which holds me back as far as making money and building writing credits.

It’s actually a pretty stupid cycle. But it’s hard to motivate yourself to do all the non-creative stuff that writing requires, especially because those things are in no way as fun as writing actually is. So that hasn’t happened in about eight months, either. I’ll get to it eventually.

There’s not really a greater point that I’m building toward here. I don’t actually have one, except that I’m in something of a bad mood because inspiration escapes me lately. And stupid NaNoWriMo is over. And here I am. I could outline at length all the numerous other projects I’ve left unfinished – I have a folder of them on my desktop here – but it’s further depressing. Most of them are old, and I was so lame and young that they’re beyond rescue. That’s a pretty good excuse for not finishing them.

Anyway. At least I can check off this week’s blog post. Check.

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