Have you ever noticed that writers these days always have to have a blog? I suppose this makes sense–if you shout your opinions into a journal no one can see, that isn’t marketable. No one wants to buy your writing if they can’t vet you, just like no one would want to commission a painting from you if all you had to show for your art skills was some shitty crayon drawing your mom keeps on the fridge. So, it follows that if I consider myself a writer (which I do) and want to publish someday (which I do, even if I don’t necessarily want it to be my only source of income), then I must have a blog.
There’s a couple reasons I’m only mildly enthusiastic about this, of course.
- I’m not sure if you’ve noticed by now, but I often have no clue what I’m talking about or what I’m doing. I’m going to be bouncing between video games and anime and politics and philosophy and history and science and religion and just about anything else that happens to momentarily catch my ever watchful, ever twitchy Eye of Intense Obsessive Interest.
- Blogs and I have an interesting history.
What is the interesting history that the second point so speaks of, you may ask? Let me take you on a journey back in time, to when I was young and silly…behold, a timeline.
- 2007, age nine. My mom decides that in order for me to be a Successful Writing Prodigy by the time I grow up, I’m going to need a Tumblr. So I get a Tumblr blog and start writing blog posts about ‘things I learned’, adding snappy comments that I thought were witty as hell when I was nine. Prime example of what I thought was funny when I was nine: I had learned that the largest star in the universe had been discovered. My witty comment? “Wait until it becomes a black hole.” That’s right, I thought casually mentioning the (probably scientifically impossible) future destruction of all the universe via supermassive black hole was witty when I was a kid. I was a pretty odd child.
- 2012, age fourteen. I get myself a WordPress blog. I write nothing but shitty game reviews, a shitty Let’s Play and a shitty fanfiction on it until two years later, when I write a post about Ebola that no one gives a shit about. Remember that, Ebola? That was a thing.
- 2015, age seventeen. Ha, this one is far too recent for my comfort. I get another Tumblr, clearly not learning from the first time. What follows is what I call the Shitty Thing, in which I get sucked into the weirdest sides of the Tumblr world and nearly ruin my life following these people. I will never speak highly of Tumblr here, and that’s why.
So yes, that’s three failed blogs in my past. Hopefully this one will be better, even though, again, I usually have no fucking clue what I’m talking about. Maybe you’ll find my writings here entertaining.