I’ve had this blog for… Eighteen years, now? And, over the years, this blog has caused me many headaches, requiring abrupt server moves as hosts shut down and DDOS mitigation console-marathons during botnet storms, HTML/CSS/PHP/MySQL coding challenges and multiple engine migrations, data loss and learning mitigation techniques, and reviewing personal life and wider connections on a daily basis.
It’s been kinda like a kid to me. Without diapers. Or braces. Or having to pay college tuition for more than myself.
Well, it’s 2018 now, and it’s about time to start using this blog, no, this entire website and domain again.
Because my hosting fees are coming due soon, and I sat down over the New Year holiday to contemplate things. And I realized I really want to continue to have this website around.
But what would make it worth my while? I’ve returned multiple times and it’s failed each time.
So, I think I should return to the reason I registered feesl.com all those years ago, to make a website for my family, and to write about stuff.
Well, things have changed in the WordPress sphere in the past two years, eight if you count the whole time I lost my mojo, and the site is no longer architected to best utilize that.
Which means that in the next couple of months I will be archiving everything, wiping it all, rebuilding everything behind the scenes, only to build it all fresh, hopefully in a way that isn’t noticeable, excepting the couple of hours it will take to dismantle and rebuild the digital structures behind the scenes.
I also have to look at those goals I had back in the early 2000s, to see how many of them matter worth a dang. (My current opinion: not too many.)
I’ve also gotten sloppy in writing. I think it’s because I only write for a purpose anymore, I don’t write to write.
Neil Gaiman had a blog post many years ago, one that I cannot find anymore, that tells you to write all the time. If you’re not eating or sleeping or washing yourself or your belongings, you should be writing. You may even be able to write during those activities, but he gives you a pass.
His post was targeted at authors, but I kinda poo-poo that limitation. I think everyone who breathes should write, every day. Something, anything, write it down somewhere, from five words to five thousand.
Get a big leather-bound journal or have a password-protected file only accessible with dual-form authentication. Use newsprint and grease paint and paper. Heck, don’t limit yourself to words, or even one art style. Go for fiction one day, fact the next, sculpture the next few, and interpretive dance on the weekend, with violin practice to start the next cycle of days. But write something every day. Make a record. Even if you’re the only audience, ever, just do it.
I stopped writing, except when I needed to. Which means I’ve maintained a certain capability for it, but it became a chore.
When I write solely for others, that is to write to someone else’s purpose and not my own purpose, I’m not playing with language in my head to the same degree. I’m not toying with words, slapping them down like poetry magnets against the fridge door of memory, then sliding them around with the abandon of a child that has had too much soda too quickly. I’m not pouring electrical impulses from thought-meat to finger-moving-meat in a way that means anything to me. I’m not exercising the creative parts of my brain except within the very constrained limits someone else put in front of me. Only this many pages with this size font for this audience with a tone that encompasses….
And if that reads like a way to get through life, let me tell you – it’s not.
You’re left empty afterwards, but you only feel empty if you experienced the opposite before – and that is feeling the labor of creating word structures out of the basest nothing, noisily regurgitating them onto your writing surface, wrestling them bits into something meaningful to yourself, then finding a way to make sure that meaning is useful and useable by people you haven’t personally met. And then the fuzzy joy of having gotten it out there in a way that satisfies an internal need.
So, having felt empty for a while, I just wanted a run at the keyboard tonight. It’s served me well.
And this keyboard has such pleasing action to it, just a squidge more than a laptop keyboard, but not so much that it’s an 1800s typewriter with full motion, pendulous swing to the keys. It’s such a happy medium between 1990s desktop keyboard and 2000s laptop keyboard. And the space bar still squeaks…! I’m making decidedly non-stoic squee noises just realizing that now.
So, adieu, until tomorrow night, readers. My brain can’t handle the marathons it used to, (I’m not 25 anymore, jeez!) I’m going to go play some Rimworld and watch some twitch, methinks.
Hope y’all having fun. And if you aren’t – well, I hope you can put yourself into a place to have some fun real soon.