[SOC]

This is not the original post I had written for this SOC installment. The one I had written was all sorts of awesome. It was from the heart. Unfortunately, when I read it, I realized it would cause me a great deal of grief if I published it. This is not the first time this has happened. I try to maintain a certain degree of shallowness here at the C-blog, so opening up my innards is not something I care to do.

I write more stuff than I actually publish. In the past, I would post shit as soon as it was written. Many times, I wouldn't even proofread because I wanted it live as soon as I had bled. I am over those urges now. When you have been doing this gig as long as I have, the thrill of instant response wears off. I imagine rock stars get so used to playing shows that they don't get all excited anymore about the prospect of being in front of huge audiences. I'm that way with blogging now. I write more out of habit now than any thrill I used to get from seeing my work put up to be praised or damned.

There's this new blog called Writers' Routines that is very interesting. The writers I admire the most are the ones who treated writing like a job. They got up every day and wrote for a length of time or a set number of pages or whatever. It is difficult for me to follow a similar routine because of my job and other pursuits. So, I wedge my writing time in between all of those other activities and commit to fulfilling an editorial schedule I have written down in a notebook. You don't see that schedule, so you have no idea when I have failed to keep the schedule. But I know. That schedule is far more ambitious than what you actually see here.

When it comes to writing or any creative endeavor, most of the work is unseen. You get the finished product, but there are all sorts of "abortions" in the process of bringing a project to term. I've learned not to throw away things and using Google Docs instead of my hard drive puts my mind at ease. I can lose my computer but still keep my work. This archive is quite cluttered with projects in process or failures or things I have simply abandoned.

I am always fascinated when they discover new stuff in the trunks and basements of artists, writers, and musicians who are deceased, retired, decrepit, or what have you. The hope is that this detritus will reveal some lost gem. The reality is that most of it sucks and was shelved for good reason. It serves more for academic interest than aesthetic pleasure. My shit is no different.

It is a new year for me, and I have no resolutions for this year. I am just continuing the things I was doing from last year. Being single has allowed me the resources to flourish more, so my hope is to remain unattached in 2012. Things are looking good for me which means that 2012 is certainly going to be the year the world ends. As they say, if you are feeling good, don't worry. You will get over it. As good as I am feeling right now, we must certainly be fucked in the coming year.

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