Archive for December, 2010
On New Year’s Eve, our way into the new year was with a whole lot of clamor and clatter. My Dad would, as was his way, fire off weapons. A shotgun in specific. As many pulls of the trigger as the coming year demanded, I suppose. CHOOM CHOOM CHOOM.
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Your Authorial Mission Statement — by which I mean, your hot fresh tasty goal as a writer in the New Year — is — wait for it — waaaaait for it — “You will put yourself in there, and out there.”
“What the hell does that mean?” you’re asking me. “And isn’t that two mission statements?” Just — shh. Shut up. Relax. Don’t nag me.
Depending on who you listen to, you’ll find that self-publishing is either: a) The best thing since blowjobs and lip balm, or b) The worst thing you could possibly do (next to thrusting your private parts in and out of a badger’s mouth). Self-publishing is neither the next coming of Book Jesus, nor is it a self-inflicted perdition.
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Look, I don’t really do the “resolution” thing exactly because — well, resolutions are promises, and promises to yourself are very easy to break. And then you break them and you feel like a shithead and next thing you know you poop your pants and fall down some steps and someone dumps pig’s blood on your head at the Prom.
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The turning of the year, arbitrary as it may be, is a good time to reflect. Reflection is awesome. You look back. You learn your lessons good and bad. You move on. Regret, though, well. Regret is for asswipes. Regret forces you to hang over your mistakes like a miasma, like a cloud of biting flies.
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