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Is This Really Necessary?

August 13, 2009

There is so much bad writing in the world. The internet is infinite, which is why it is commonly known as “the infininternet,” and which is why it can afford to endorse a policy of quantity over quality. Anyone can start a blog in four minutes, even me. I’m one of the four billion people in the world whose passion is writing. At the same time, I’ve always been a realist and I used to be a classicist, so I know that “passion” means “suffering,” and I fully understand that the chances of my not spending my 40th birthday eating microwaved Beefaroni off the linoleum floor of a 450 square foot basement suite are slim to none. For years I’ve been thinking about starting a blog, but I always decided against it because it seemed like one more blog was the last thing this world needed. (That’s obviously exaggeration. There are plenty of things that the world needs even less than it needs another blog. Like a giant asteroid slamming into the earth, the rock itself instantly killing thousands and then over the course of a few months or years the immense amount of sun-blocking particulate in the air causing climate change so profound that everyone else froze to death if they hadn’t already starved to death or been eaten by other people who were starving to death. This is just one example. You can probably think of others.) Wherever I am, I’m more comfortable there if I feel I’ve earned my place. But it’s becoming increasingly important for aspiring authors to have online real estate. It’s becoming more a business thing than a genuinely-believing-anyone-wants-to-read-about-the-minutiae-of-your-day thing. So here I am. Because I’m a captain of industry.

What will this blog be about? Good question, men of Athens, good question. I have no idea. In the words of M. Povich, we’re all gonna find out together. Those of you who stick around can count on being subjected to a lot of totally useless crap about etymology and classical literature. There will be book reviews, I expect. Satire and parody when I’m in the mood, which is always. Freestyle rap, needless to say. Manuscript excerpts, just to crank up the self-indulgence to 11 (and on the off chance that some day this site is visited by someone with the power to secure my financial future forever [ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaaa!] by publishing one of my novels). Tying all of these elements together like a dominatrix pleasuring her client with bondage will be a relentless obsession with language. I’ve arguably never been in love with a person, but in the company of vocabulary and syntax, I’m the dirtiest slut around. There is nothing I won’t do with words. Ovid wanted to die masturbating. Fair enough, but on the other hand, David Carradine has recently done a great job of demonstrating that that idea works better on the page than in an actual hotel room. Better to die writing.

Let’s do this thing. Nunc est scribendum.


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