And so another desperate voice cries out from the ether
(This is unproofread, so please be gentle)
This is the first entry of what will hopefully be the first of regular entries on my blog, and this is the best opening I can come up with.
I’m a frustrated writer who has gravitated to the profession that caters for frustrated male writers: English teaching. This year I’ve been stuck at a school which I paradoxically love, but can feel my life being sucked out of me by the extra-curricula work demanded of me. I appear to be at a school where actual teaching takes backseat to filling out forms, helping kiddies get through their issues and meetings, always meetings.
So, you won’t find my real name on this blog. I get the feeling I may be at times spitting viciously at my place of employment, some colleagues and students so it would probably be best if I keep my name to myself.
So scratch fame and fortune as a possible motivation for writing this blog. No; my reason is far more pathetic. As I said above, I am a frustrated author. I do want to write for a living, but this year, I find myself without time to write. I get home from work at between 6 and 6:30. I get an hour or so of playing with my girls, and then, after dinner and a little (a miniscule amount, admittedly) of housework, I’m far too rooted to do anything that requires thought or effort.
Last year I wrote a 66, 000 word novel, which I haven’t found time to edit this year. I was reading a novel a week. This year I’ve found time to read three – one I had to teach, and one I’ve already read.
But still I’ve got to scratch that writing itch. So…
This is my attempt to keep something going. One hour of writing a day, from 8 pm to 9 pm. An hour of drivel about anything that springs to mind and keeps my fingers pummelling my laptop keys for 60 minutes. So if you are reading this, take this blog as a social experiment. You’re privy to a wannabe writer’s writing exercises. It could be fascinating (but probably not).
No, I have no delusions that anyone will read this, let alone agree with opinions that all-too-often delve into rants. A lonely pathetic voice crying out in the ether desperate to attain some level of respect in the writing world.
Shit, that did sound pathetic didn’t it?
So what to expect? Like most bloggists (“blogger” sounds too phlegmy for my liking) I live under the mistaken, egotistical belief that my opinion actually matters, and since, like most English teachers, I am a pretentious arse this will be a place for over-opinionated rantings on whatever strikes my fancy at the times.
There will be few facts. There will be little verifiable content, and Wikipedia will be the extent of research.
Since my wife banned me from watching the news because my girls were learning too many swear words from what I yelled at the screen, I will rant on the state of the world.
Since I still – inexplicably – love my job and so am too afraid to tell my bosses what I really think, I will rant on the state of education and my job.
Since I am a pretentious popular culturalist, I will rant on everything popular cultural. (Yes that is grammatically correct.) I will try to avoid art, as I generally get a headache trying to understand it (much like the ones I get when trying to understand a time travel tale.)
There will be no poetry, fan fiction, or my short stories.
Modern poets are song writers. Any tosser who puts a few random, pretentious words together and call it poetry are failed advertising copy writers. As someone (I think it was Coleridge) once said, “Music without poetry is just noise. Poetry without music is just words.” Or too put in a way that I much prefer, someone else (I think it was Francis Bacon) once said, “Writing free verse poetry is like playing tennis with the net down.”
Fan fiction scares me. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because my first experience worried me immensely: an otherwise genius intellectual reading me a story he’d written about a dimension-hopping Power Puff Girl (or something similar) getting involved in an investigation with Mulder and Scully. I found it oddly like a nerd version of the Penthouse Forum letter page.
And short stories. I have a colleague who teaches his stories in class, and the kids write in them in essays. I guess he can get away with it. I once insulted a uni lecturer by writing in an essay that it was the height of desperation, egotism and laziness for someone to put their own book on the required reading list for a course they were teaching. So, I partly don’t want to turn into one of those stereotypical internet critics bagging everybody else out while placing my own unpublished works, claiming I’m much better than them, and circumstances prevent me from being published. That, and the moment I put out my short stories for free (without, obviously selling them) is the day I admit I cannot become a writer, and I’m not ready for that just yet.
And now I’m rambling.
15 more minutes to go.
I should mention that I am rather intelligent. Actually, that’s not true. (If I was I wouldn’t have put my balls in the wind like that, or at least delete that and pretend I didn’t write it in the first place.) I’m knowledgeable. So don’t be surprised if I throw in the occasional entry on something that may not be considered pop culture. (Anyone who gets my blog title will know what I’m talking about.)
I will accept criticism, though I do have a stubborn streak that tends to piss an awful lot of people around me. I am – I like to think – at least a little open-minded, but I guess that’s a little like referring to yourself as honest and trustworthy. If someone has to say it, then they’re probably not.
10 minutes. Or truthfully 12 minutes, but if I type this out badly and have to spend some time going back and editing the mistakes, by the time I’m finished, it should be ten minutes.
Yep, ten minutes.
This is getting painful isn’t it? I promise I will have a focus on most days instead of this stream-of-consciousness rant. I really am as shallow as most people accuse me of being, so introducing myself doesn’t take that long. I am the master of the bad first impression. I have never dated a girl who liked me from the moment we met. Every person in my department had a terrible first impression of me, but they’ve grown to like me (or they at least hide their contempt extremely well).
So if you do have a terrible first impression of me, stop reading now and come back in a couple of days and see if anything’s changed.
I’m actually typing this before I set up a blog account (which I have to do for a couple of kids I’m teaching to write proper) so I’m not sure if the following information is provided in some frame somewhere but I still have 6 minutes to go and not much else to say.
I am a music snob, a film geek and a fantasy nerd. And yes I do believe there’s a difference in the terms.
A geek is a person who has extreme knowledge in an esoteric area that not many other people know about (and is generally worthless); but has social skills.
A nerd is a person who has extreme knowledge in an esoteric area that not many other people know about (and is generally worthless); but has no social skills.
A dork is a person who no knowledge in any area; and has no social skills.
A snob is someone who refuses to acknowledge the worth of anything mainstream.
And how can I be a nerd (no social skills) and a geek (some social skills) at the same time? When talking fantasy (or especially roleplaying) you can’t be anything but a nerd.
Favourite singers (yes I am getting desperate now) Fiona Apple, Ani DiFranco, Jeff Buckley (my sensitive side)
Favourite authors: Stephen King, Elmore Leonard, Robert Cormier.
And there’s the hour.
This is the first entry of what will hopefully be the first of regular entries on my blog, and this is the best opening I can come up with.
I’m a frustrated writer who has gravitated to the profession that caters for frustrated male writers: English teaching. This year I’ve been stuck at a school which I paradoxically love, but can feel my life being sucked out of me by the extra-curricula work demanded of me. I appear to be at a school where actual teaching takes backseat to filling out forms, helping kiddies get through their issues and meetings, always meetings.
So, you won’t find my real name on this blog. I get the feeling I may be at times spitting viciously at my place of employment, some colleagues and students so it would probably be best if I keep my name to myself.
So scratch fame and fortune as a possible motivation for writing this blog. No; my reason is far more pathetic. As I said above, I am a frustrated author. I do want to write for a living, but this year, I find myself without time to write. I get home from work at between 6 and 6:30. I get an hour or so of playing with my girls, and then, after dinner and a little (a miniscule amount, admittedly) of housework, I’m far too rooted to do anything that requires thought or effort.
Last year I wrote a 66, 000 word novel, which I haven’t found time to edit this year. I was reading a novel a week. This year I’ve found time to read three – one I had to teach, and one I’ve already read.
But still I’ve got to scratch that writing itch. So…
This is my attempt to keep something going. One hour of writing a day, from 8 pm to 9 pm. An hour of drivel about anything that springs to mind and keeps my fingers pummelling my laptop keys for 60 minutes. So if you are reading this, take this blog as a social experiment. You’re privy to a wannabe writer’s writing exercises. It could be fascinating (but probably not).
No, I have no delusions that anyone will read this, let alone agree with opinions that all-too-often delve into rants. A lonely pathetic voice crying out in the ether desperate to attain some level of respect in the writing world.
Shit, that did sound pathetic didn’t it?
So what to expect? Like most bloggists (“blogger” sounds too phlegmy for my liking) I live under the mistaken, egotistical belief that my opinion actually matters, and since, like most English teachers, I am a pretentious arse this will be a place for over-opinionated rantings on whatever strikes my fancy at the times.
There will be few facts. There will be little verifiable content, and Wikipedia will be the extent of research.
Since my wife banned me from watching the news because my girls were learning too many swear words from what I yelled at the screen, I will rant on the state of the world.
Since I still – inexplicably – love my job and so am too afraid to tell my bosses what I really think, I will rant on the state of education and my job.
Since I am a pretentious popular culturalist, I will rant on everything popular cultural. (Yes that is grammatically correct.) I will try to avoid art, as I generally get a headache trying to understand it (much like the ones I get when trying to understand a time travel tale.)
There will be no poetry, fan fiction, or my short stories.
Modern poets are song writers. Any tosser who puts a few random, pretentious words together and call it poetry are failed advertising copy writers. As someone (I think it was Coleridge) once said, “Music without poetry is just noise. Poetry without music is just words.” Or too put in a way that I much prefer, someone else (I think it was Francis Bacon) once said, “Writing free verse poetry is like playing tennis with the net down.”
Fan fiction scares me. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because my first experience worried me immensely: an otherwise genius intellectual reading me a story he’d written about a dimension-hopping Power Puff Girl (or something similar) getting involved in an investigation with Mulder and Scully. I found it oddly like a nerd version of the Penthouse Forum letter page.
And short stories. I have a colleague who teaches his stories in class, and the kids write in them in essays. I guess he can get away with it. I once insulted a uni lecturer by writing in an essay that it was the height of desperation, egotism and laziness for someone to put their own book on the required reading list for a course they were teaching. So, I partly don’t want to turn into one of those stereotypical internet critics bagging everybody else out while placing my own unpublished works, claiming I’m much better than them, and circumstances prevent me from being published. That, and the moment I put out my short stories for free (without, obviously selling them) is the day I admit I cannot become a writer, and I’m not ready for that just yet.
And now I’m rambling.
15 more minutes to go.
I should mention that I am rather intelligent. Actually, that’s not true. (If I was I wouldn’t have put my balls in the wind like that, or at least delete that and pretend I didn’t write it in the first place.) I’m knowledgeable. So don’t be surprised if I throw in the occasional entry on something that may not be considered pop culture. (Anyone who gets my blog title will know what I’m talking about.)
I will accept criticism, though I do have a stubborn streak that tends to piss an awful lot of people around me. I am – I like to think – at least a little open-minded, but I guess that’s a little like referring to yourself as honest and trustworthy. If someone has to say it, then they’re probably not.
10 minutes. Or truthfully 12 minutes, but if I type this out badly and have to spend some time going back and editing the mistakes, by the time I’m finished, it should be ten minutes.
Yep, ten minutes.
This is getting painful isn’t it? I promise I will have a focus on most days instead of this stream-of-consciousness rant. I really am as shallow as most people accuse me of being, so introducing myself doesn’t take that long. I am the master of the bad first impression. I have never dated a girl who liked me from the moment we met. Every person in my department had a terrible first impression of me, but they’ve grown to like me (or they at least hide their contempt extremely well).
So if you do have a terrible first impression of me, stop reading now and come back in a couple of days and see if anything’s changed.
I’m actually typing this before I set up a blog account (which I have to do for a couple of kids I’m teaching to write proper) so I’m not sure if the following information is provided in some frame somewhere but I still have 6 minutes to go and not much else to say.
I am a music snob, a film geek and a fantasy nerd. And yes I do believe there’s a difference in the terms.
A geek is a person who has extreme knowledge in an esoteric area that not many other people know about (and is generally worthless); but has social skills.
A nerd is a person who has extreme knowledge in an esoteric area that not many other people know about (and is generally worthless); but has no social skills.
A dork is a person who no knowledge in any area; and has no social skills.
A snob is someone who refuses to acknowledge the worth of anything mainstream.
And how can I be a nerd (no social skills) and a geek (some social skills) at the same time? When talking fantasy (or especially roleplaying) you can’t be anything but a nerd.
Favourite singers (yes I am getting desperate now) Fiona Apple, Ani DiFranco, Jeff Buckley (my sensitive side)
Favourite authors: Stephen King, Elmore Leonard, Robert Cormier.
And there’s the hour.
posted by Nutshell King at 4:29 PM
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