Spirit of the Universe, I'm tired. I'm tired of putting aside the work I enjoy doing in order to chase clout, money, and validation. I'm tired of fighting. I'm trying to do what's right, but often I wonder what any of it is worth. Can you give me just a little love here, Spirit? Anything at all? I'm not much for being touched but I could really use a virtual hug from some nice, non-creepy people.
Here is tonight's Big Question.
What are your current struggles and roadblocks when it comes to writing?
In January, it was getting any writing done at all. I struggled to complete a 5000-word story. That isn't like me. I average at least a thousand words a day. I should have been able to write and edit this story in two weeks.
Because I'm slow on the uptake, it's taken me a month to realize that I've been sacrificing my serials to write pieces for potential inclusion in publications. Writing one-offs may be enjoyable in their own right, but I don't get the chance to become personally involved with the characters.
My desire to form relationships with my characters could be because I rarely form meaningful relationships with other people. Some people reading may find this sad, pathetic, tragic, whatever. Other people's opinions on the matter are neither here nor there to me. Other people have a track record of not understanding me very well. I don't trust them damn crooked vultures.
I realized that one of my problems last month was neglecting to make a monthly list of goals. With my ADHD, this is a necessary step. I've also decided that I'd like to find an ADHD workbook for adults.
I have something to bitch about.
Today on Twatter, a user did what my dear old dad called fishing for attention. The Urban Dictionary defines fishing for attention thusly:
When an attention whore deliberately goes looking for attention by complaining about how shitty their life is in order for a dumb motherfucker to compliment.
Since the attention whore in question was a conventionally attractive MILF, dumb motherfuckers lined up to give her the attention she was craving. Normally I ignore this shit and move on my way, but this particular attention whore did two things that really ground my gears.
Her initial tweet went a little bit something like this.
"OMG, u guys! I'm going to be 40 soon! Please let me know I'm not the oldest person on Twatter!"
The fact that this twit thinks Twitter is a platform for the Young and Happening set is laughable. Either she's been trying to infiltrate the irritating youth set of some fandom or other and they've been telling her she can't sit at the Kewl Kidz Table, or she's even more out of touch than I am at my advanced and ancient age. Girlfriend, the Young and Happening set aren't on Twatter, they're on Tik Tok or whatever has come along to upstage it. Last I knew, Tik Tok was the Happening Thing.
Anyway, I was prepared to ignore this stupidity. But then she went and squee'd her thanks to all the dumb motherfuckers fawningly telling her she isn't that old with this bit of sage wisdom.
"Woohoo, thanks you guys! Let's throw our canes and walkers in the air in celebration of Mature Twitter!"
Because that is certainly one hell of a mature statement, let me tell you.
Actually, it's an illustration that age doesn't mean maturity. I've encountered sixteen-year-olds wise enough not to say anything that fucking dumb.
I pointed out that not all older people use mobility aids and not everyone who uses a mobility aid is elderly. I stated that I do use a walker sometimes, not because of my advanced age of nearly 57 but because of my jacked-up back. I said that between my impossibly ancient age and my physical disability, I must be the most incredibly decrepit person on the planet. I also said that it's discouraging that ageism is still so normalized.
I can't imagine being so shallow that I cared for a minute whether a bunch of Tik Tok Teens thought I was old and uncool. I don't even fucking like Twatter, as evidenced by my referring to it as Twatter. I use it to share links. I still have an account because it's more useful than Bookface.
Actually, I wish there was a Bookface. A platform for writers to share their books and stories. Someone else will have to build it. I have no abilities in that area.
That's all the partying we have time for tonight. Us decrepit old fucks need our beauty sleep.
~Ornery Owl Has Spoken~
Free use image from Open Clipart Vectors
Tonight's Party Music
Here's the link in case you can't see the video.
52 Weeks of Writing
The Icky, Sticky, Nit-Picky Legalese If You Please (Or Don't Please)
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Hiss and spit.ReplyDelete
I don't play twitter. Or FB. Or Tik Tok. Or any of those games.
And don't give a rat's fundament.
Neither do I offer sympathy to anyone turning 40.
Twatter is a useful idiot platform for sharing links to my and other people's books and that's pretty much it. Facebook has flagged most of my blogs as "abusive," whatever that means. There's still a writers group that I occasionally share links to. Other than that it's pretty useless. I use Pinterest as a cataloging system and I've never figured out how to make Instagram useful for me as it's pretty much all smartphone-based. Forget Tik Tok. Clout chasing is a disease. I don't even enjoy standard promotion much.Delete
Age is a number. I think I'm wiser at almost 57 than I was at any previous age ending in 7, but I'm still struggling with some things, obviously. I'd just look like a damn fool if I went on Twatter or wherever begging people to tell me that I'm not the oldest person on the platform. I mean, what the fuck?
By the time I was 40, I could give a fuck less whether anyone thought I was old. When I was in my early forties, I quit trying to hide my gray hair. I started going gray at 27. My hair is thick and most dyes don't even touch it. Why pretend to be something I'm not?