What Kind of Writer Am I?

I find myself asking this question a lot lately. You'd think that this would be a pretty simple question for someone who writes but I have a way of complicating even simple things. If you are feeling a little lost at this point, then I suggest you take a brief moment to read the title before we continue. There, feeling less lost now? Good. That makes one of us at least.

So, 'what kind of writer', what does that mean? For me it has be 'what is your style?', that thing that other authors, bloggers, writers, and probably editors and agents call your voice. Hmm. There is a lot I'd like to say, but I'm afraid most of it would be wishful thinking. You see, I used to have a fairly comedic style-  a mix of goofy and surreal humour, sentences that flowed easily into eachother, but that writing voice belonged to a younger version of me, a less tired and bitter version of me. My writing voice now, on good days, (like this very moment perhaps) is colloquial and personal, spiced with moments of dry or sardonic humour. The good days are far fewer than my bad days, however, and on those latter days it's hard for me to say if I have a style at all.

What would you call a style that consists of rambling to yourself in a literary way, in a slightly imperious air, about your negative thoughts and doubts, like a British aristocrat monologuing to himself in his study in the midst of a rainstorm, his room lit by a single flickering candle. What would you call that? Melodramatic? Oh, sad, you say. Yes, I don't think I can argue with you there. Then on bad days my writing voice is thus: sad.

I think even if I have a voice, however inconsistent it is, my real issue is how I might reconcile it with the types of writing I'd like to do. Put another way, will the same voice work for an essay, for a story, for a whatever, the same way it works for a blog post? That may be a bit of a useless musing, something I am quite good at, mind, but I should probably find out for myself. I'm not quite pinning a certain feeling down, though, as I write this. There is a thought bouncing around my mind, that tempts me to say 'it is ailing me', the brooding British noble trying to claw his way out of my mouth, or at least into my brain. Cease thy meddling and sweeping gesticulations amidst the confines of my mind, ye apparition, leave me!

The thought, I think, or at least I ponder, I wonder, or should I say ruminate upon, is that the style I have is not necessarily the style I want. At least, it is not the only style I want, and I would happily trade away my Melancholy Melodramatic British Man™ for a writing voice similar to Terry Pratchett's. How does develop another writing voice though? The me on paper is often so different from the me in real life. My colloquial, paper 'me' is perhaps closer than the wigged, portly, British man who occasionally possesses my fingers, and so it seems that I could just work on an additional voice to add to something I could one day haughtily refer to as my repertoire. Another part of me says, you are what you are, even in your writing voice, keep it or change it but you don't really have more than one, just multiple sides. You don't have more than one personality, and your writing is just a reflection of that. Oh, that sounds very wise. But tell me, wiser self, if that is true, what about that insufferable British man in my head?

Perhaps, if you ignore him, he will just go away...?

The Answer is to Give Up

My life, at least from where I stand, is so often paradoxical. I have to wonder if others share the same sentiment, particularly with regard to their own self-improvement and goals. Most lately what sits at the forefront of my mind is that often my best progress is made after I have given up. Of course 'giving up' implies that no more progress would be made, so perhaps it's more of a metaphorical casting-away. If I give something up, I get better at it.

Let me avoid being vague any further. Often I become fixated on a goal, writing for instance, and so I set myself about the goal as any other might. I try and make a practice schedule and stick to it. I read about writing and, in general, read more of everything. I do my best to immerse myself and drive myself forward so that I might make steady strides forward and improve upon my modest skill. Over time schedules, routines, can become hard to maintain. The goal becomes a source of stress, but you know what they say, time and pressure make diamonds. Perhaps I just never let the pressure build enough. I think as a pressure cooker I am woefully inadequate though, as I have myriad holes through which I can not help but lose steam. With that I know I can't make a diamond, I'm not even sure if I could make a good jam.

Then comes the decision to 'give-up'. It's not an inapt description, but it is a bit misleading. I do decide to give up. I do, in my current example, give up my writing schedule, and my focus on reading-up on writing, and additional reading, and all insistence of steady dedicated practice. I can't say that I gave up on the idea of writing but, on the steady pursuit of that goal, I have definitively relinquished control.

Yet for some reason I will always come back to the goals I gave up. I will come back, only with less stress, with less focus on improvement. I come back writing just to write, and somehow make better progress that way. I don't practice as often, I don't stare at a blank page until my brain pretends to start working. I just write when I can and somehow that works. And I don't understand that. I don't understand how dedicated practice can feel like such a standstill, yet make better progress with what feels like dabbling. It's as if dedicated practice is a trudge up a gravel hill with each step losing almost as much progress as you gained. It's not as if I couldn't climb higher that way, but it is so much more tiring. I am confused as to why this seems to be my lot. Fix sights. Strive. Give-up. Improve. In that order.

Email is Quaint

When did emails become quaint? It seems like not long ago writing pen and paper letters had become a thing of the past. How archaic, you have to manually drag ink-coated metal or graphite embedded wood across paper? My my, perhaps I should write with a quill for a more authentic experience! Email was the wave of the future; effortlessly compose and correct, instantly send, and revel in your ability to attach as much as you can cram into the file-size limit. Was. Email was the wave of the future, then that wave washed ashore with a quiet 'fsshh' and slid back out to sea. 

This realization dawned on me just a moment ago, as I considered sending an email. I hadn't sent one in a while and as I considered what to write I thought: maybe I should keep it short because I don't want to go overboard. Wait, go overboard? In an email? This, coming from the guy who used to write a small novel's worth in some emails? That's when it hit me, email is just an annoyance now. It's for when you need something in writing; also, it's a convenient place for all that junk mail to pile up. At least in my email I don't have to take the junk out to the recycling. 

We are so connected now that email is too much trouble. I can call someone with the touch of a button, and with hardly more effort I can see their face in a video chat. I can send instant messages, from anywhere that matters, and have a conversation in real time. Why do I need email again? Oh right, so I have somewhere convenient to store all my purchase receipts. Someone sent me an email? Weird, why didn't they just send a text message? I exaggerate a little bit, but not much. This is my generation now. Calling someone when it isn't urgent is considered a faux pas. I know I am in slightly more techy circles than some but I regularly log into a voice chat server where I am connected with all my friends and we talk whenever we have something to say, as if we were all just sitting at our computers with walkie-talkies. It's the next best thing to being in the same room. Email is just slow and clunky by comparison. 

So much for email. 

Things I Hate #10 - I Think We Know the Real Answer

Somehow I made it to #10. It only took me like 4 years and several lapses of motivation. And now here you have it, the  masterpiece  stunning  pretty good   mediocre article you've waited for!

1. 7 Credit Cards You Should Not Ignore If You Have Excellent Credit
Let it be known before-hand that I hate credit cards, so obviously I'm biased. I have one credit card and once I pay it off I will never, ever, carry a credit card again. In fact, I have sworn to never take out another loan or use credit again if it is within my power to avoid it. I'm certain that with the money I've paid in interest over the years I would be in a significantly better position than I am currently. With all that said I can't imagine people wanting a collection of credit cards, or even shopping around for credit cards. And I've never heard lines like "You have got to check out this credit card it's amazing."
The ad says these are cards you should not ignore. Sure, you can listen to the ad, but I think you'll be better off if you take my advice ignore them. Ignore them so hard.


2. Little Known Way To Pay Off Mortgage
I've covered this before so I'll keep this short. What kind of method do you think a site called LendingTree is going to suggest you use? I'll give you a hint, it rhymes with necromancing. (Hint: It's 'refinancing'.) Not exactly a little known way to pay anything off. Also, really, there is only one way to pay anything off. By putting money into it. By that line of thought the best way to pay something off is to increase your income. It's that simple.


3. What's Inside Slim Jims?
While I must admit this is actually an interesting article idea it's being served by Taboola. My suggestion? Just look up the article title on Google, or Bing, or whatever you use. Although, deep down we already know what's inside Slim Jims: copious fat, sodium, and the last of your self-respect.


4. 4 Items Every Man Shouldn't Leave Home Without This Summer
This article sounds...oddly specific. Like: 5 Nose-hair Trimmers No Woman Should Leave the Office Without This Autumn. Why? I can't imagine anything that I shouldn't leave home without except my phone, and my phone does the work of just about any other electronics I could think to bring. Well, I also bring my wallet. I travel pretty light. Oh, plus I usually bring my keys...and a pen. Come to think of it, the article says 'Items'. The picture is some phone (likely designed by someone recently concussed) implying that the 'Items' are electronics but, really, they could be anything. I'd say I named the items already if it didn't qualify the statement with 'This Summer'. Really? What items should I not leave home without 'This Summer' and This Summer only? Was there a mutant wasp outbreak caused by a solar flare? Oh there was? Oh, okay so the 4 items are wasp spray, radiation pills, spf 200 sunscreen, and a baseball bat for when you run out of wasp spray. Man, that must have been a crazy summer.


5. Hurry up to learn the trick : $30 for an iPad
Sound too good to be true? It isn't! Or, wait, no, I meant is. It IS too good to be true. I checked out one of this style of sites once. They want you to buy credits to bid on specific items, and if you're really lucky maybe you can grab an auction for less than it normally goes for. Like most auction sites though if it's a popular item other people are going to push the price into normal retail value range. Also, keep in mind that you paid upfront for credits to use on the auctions. You paid the auction site up-front. For every 1 guy who wins something on that site there or 20 or 30 who lost and aren't getting their pre-paid credits back. So basically it's a scam. I mean, it seems like it's technically legal, but it's still a big ass scam. There you go- a serious entry. And I only made attempt at being funny.


6. The 6 Worst Cars at the Detroit Auto Show 2013
Wow, look how hopelessly out of date this ad is. It most certainly isn't because I saved this image in 2013 and have been incredibly lazy about posting for going on 4 years. That would just be ridiculous!



Well that's all for this one. This was a rough one for me since there wasn't as much to work with. Hopefully the next one will be up (or down?) to their usual abysmal quality. 

Things I Hate #9 - Finish the Damn Titl...

Behold the monstrous visage of terrible clickbait advertisements. Now let's tear it apart to see what makes it tick. Now who is the real monster?

1. 5 Signs You'll Get Cancer
Let me start of by pointing on that this under-handed ad preys on your fear of vulnerability to cancer. Oh no! I don't want to get cancer I better click this link so I can better protect myself! Although now that I think about it, it says nothing about risks, it just says 5 signs you'll get cancer. Guess that means it's unavoidable and nothing matters anymore. In any case whatever it says is probably utter garbage, a literary sewer back-up presenting the latest pointless health conspiracies. So instead here are my 5 Signs You'll Get Cancer.

• You bath in gasoline.
• You can only enjoy food when it has been charred beyond recognition.
• You feel breathing is too easy by default so you like to keep your home filled with a thick blanket of smoke.
• You can't sleep at night unless your Geiger counter makes a constant soothing click noise.
• You believe that sunscreen does nothing- it's a hoax like global warming. 

2. The 3 Worst Things that Age You Faster (AVOID)

You know, if you are going to capitalize everything else in your title, you might as well get that last word. I hate to admit it, it's technically right, but everything else is capitalized, finish that fucker off. Now, where to start? The picture shows someone exercising, so it seems like they are trying to imply that exercising can in some way make you age faster. Chances are the picture is unrelated though. This is clickbait after all. Also, what's up with the "(AVOID)"? I mean, these are about things that age you faster, do you really need to tell people not to do them? This is an elixir from the Fountain of Infirmity, don't drink it! (AVOID). Duh. More garbage.

3. 10 Crazy Alternate Endings

If this wasn't from Movieseum (wtf is that even) this sounds like it could actually be an interesting article. Although the harsh reality is that most of those endings didn't make it into the final product because they aren't that great. Sometimes an alternate ending can provide insights into characters or details from the movie. Sometimes the alternate ending is dumb or barely distinguishable from the actual ending. Either way, I don't expect a site called Movieseum to provide more than a bare minimum of effort. Certainly nothing engaging is there. And, goddamnit, what have I told you ads about jamming two words together for a site name. You lazy bastards.

4. 16 Exercises You Must Do If You Want To Lose Weig...

Oh how I loathe these types of ads in particular. The mere title perpetuates a common myth that there are exercises that make you lose weight (or target certain areas). There aren't. The short version is that it's entirely dependent on calories in versus calories out. I can give you a better version of whatever article was linked (minus whatever product they are trying to push) just by rearranging the title. Behold: Exercise You Must, If You Want To Lose Weight. Also, seriously fuck this title. Fuck this title in particular. It trails off implying there is more after 'Weight' but they could have just as easily finished writing weight. The title would have still made sense! Seriously, c'mon!

5. 18 Celebrity Hairstyles We Hope To NEVER See Again

A cheap ad-ridden site filled with low-res photos and the occasional absurdly high res photo (for no particular reason) with each picture accompanied by a poorly written snarky comment. That's my guess as to what that link leads to. Oh, and they'll force you to click "Next" for each one. Now, if you've ever read any of my old Things I Hate posts you may know that I care next to nothing about celebrities. My general thought process being 'leave them the hell alone'. So, you know, even if this article was being presented by someplace more reputable than whatever Refinery29 my feelings would still be about the same: The article concept is garbage and I could care less. 

6. You Won't Believe What This Teen Can't Do Whil...

Toyota? Somehow I doubt that is the official Toyota site. Also, let's bullet point this shit because I have a lot to nitpick on this one. 

• The picture depicts someone driving, the site is supposedly Toyota, and the title implies 'While Driving'. Key word being implies. The link probably is something to do with driving but I'm just saying this could just be a big switcharoo.
• Fuck. Just add the goddamn 'e' before the ellipses. 
• I bet I can believe it.
• The trailing title and the picture of a young blonde girl (with her mouth open and an aloof expression) suggest something sexual in nature at the end of the diseased rainbow that is this ad. The content is most certainly not sexual. I'd bet money on it. Their goal is to get you to click, not to be truthful. 
• The picture and the title 'What This Teen Can't Do' combined prey on the stereotype of dumb blondes even though it's likely completely irrelevant. The picture implies that the article concerns a blonde girl. However, aside from the picture (which is frequently misleading) nothing confirms that the article is even about a girl much less a blonde. It says 'Teen'.

Well that's all for now. I'll leave you with this thought for now: Why do I share all this? Well partially to indulge my indignant rage, but also because I don't want you to click on these. The rancid ad-meat of Taboola ad blocks might just go away someday if everyone stops clicking on their shameless links. Also because these crap ads provide much insight into the wider world of ad psychology. 

Let's Talk About Thermal Expansion - "The Sausage Incident"

Today I learned a valuable lesson. Always use the right size lid for your pan. Heed my tale.

So there I was, standing around the house. Warren had just been put down for a nap and I had things I needed to do but, just then, I hungered. The beast demanded meat. Luckily for us we’ve been eating high protein meals as part of a new diet plan. I could have some cottage cheese. Maybe. Or some chicken thighs. Hmm. Tilapia was also an option. Nah.

No, what I needed today was Bratwurst. A thick tube of beer-infused fatty meaty goodness that I could throw between two pieces of bread and slather with mustard for a transcendent lunch experience. I ripped open the package and flung a brat into the pan, I think there was an angelic choir involved. The sausage landed with a wet and anti-climactic plop. Also, I turned on the heat.

A few minutes later and the sausage is coming along nicely. The packaging says I should pour in some water at this point and cover for 12 minutes. I briefly consider this but, then again, I don’t want to muddle my bratwurst. I figure I’ll just let it finish frying in the pan, alone, at a lower heat. I got this. Although that bit about the lid sounds smart, I decide. If I throw a lid on maybe it will finish cooking slightly faster. That’s about when things started to go wrong.

At this point I should mention that we got a new pot and pan set for Christmas. I dug through the myriad covers lurking in the back of the cupboards for the right lid, only, there is no right lid for this newer pan. There is smaller lid. Ah. There is a lid of the exact same size as the previous lid. Uh...okay. And there is a lid of monstrous proportions that might just be a satellite dish that broke off of the international space station. Wonder if I should report that. No worries though, I still got this. There’s still that lid- it might fit.

The lid in question is vintage- a thick slab of metal with a handle attached. A couple hundred years ago people would have called it a buckler and appropriated it for honorable combat. It’s 2017 now though, so it’s a pot lid. The lid belongs to a set that originated in the 70’s, if the color is any indication, back when the design philosophy was that even if you can’t survive the nukes, you kitchenware should at least.

I gingerly placed the lid over the sizzling miracle that was my bratwurst. The alternative lid fit, but it didn’t rest lightly on the edge like a normal lid. No, this lid was slightly too small for the pan but rested nicely on the inner diameter about a quarter inch down. The result seemed more-or-less perfect. Seemed. Let’s just say it was less than perfect. I set the timer for 8 minutes and then most certainly did something significantly more productive than stand in the kitchen staring at the stove for the next 7 minutes.

Now, let’s talk about thermal expansion. Thermal expansion is the concept that when the temperature of a material increases so does the material’s volume. That means when you heat something it gets ever so slightly bigger. This is something I did not take into consideration at the time. No worries though, I got this.

So the pan comes off the heat slightly early. I want to make sure that the bratwurst is done before I reset the timer. I give a tug on the lid but it seems to be just a bit tight. Also the lid is radiating heat like it’s a fire-demon and I just beat it in a game of checkers, so I dutifully wait. Meanwhile, the bratwurst continues to sizzle in its iron cage- sounding its hauntingly beautiful sausage siren song.

A few minutes later the pan has cooled quite a bit. A few experimental tugs on the lid reveal that it’s more than a bit tight. The lid is so stuck that I can lift the entire pan by the lid. I can, in fact, bounce the pan up and down by the lid. Er, I think I still got this, though.

I’m generally a smart guy. I realize that the lid must have expanded due to the heat therefore, I surmise, all I need to do is cool everything down and it will contract. Brilliant. I got this. The pan, the new pan may I remind you, has now cooled down enough that I feel safe running it under some cold water. So I do. The pan and lid have now been cooled to the point that they are now cold to the touch. I tug on the lid. Nothing. I try to apply some simple leverage. The only good grip point is the pan handle, which threatens to bend anytime I apply more than moderate force, and a small black plastic handle in the center of the lid, which seems to be suggesting that all of creation will give way before it does.

I don’t got this.

It was around this point that I started to panic. I have just ruined a brand new pan and a 15th century buckler. Then it occurs to me, more contraction, that’s the solution! I open the freezer and pop the entire pan in and close the door. I even set a timer so my anxious meddling doesn’t interfere with the cold. I listen for the metallic pop of the lid coming loose but it never comes. Suddenly a new fear dawns on me. What if the heated lid created such a perfect seal that the bratwurst-space became essentially airtight? By that logic, by cooling the pan in the freezer, I am causing the trapped air to contract and creating negative pressure. The inside of the pan is becoming a vacuum. I realize my sausage is now a tiny, doomed, earthbound cosmonaut trapped in an artificial vacuum: Brat-space.

I yank the pan out of the freezer. My panicked man-brain is telling me that only a hammer can resolve this now. Somehow I think this is the proper course of action. Yes. The only course of action available to me now. Something in the back of my brain is telling me "just run and never look back". There is no turning back past this point. On my present course, at its logical conclusion, I will be digging a shallow grave at the base of a mountain in the rain. Fortunately for me I seem to have misplaced the hammer.

Out of options I revert to the primitive cave-man parts of my brain. There are no large rocks around so I drop to my knees and begin hitting the side of the pan on the ground with increasing force. In the course of 15 minutes I have become a monkey with a bone. The sky turns red and I think I see a black monolith out of the corner of my eye. My greasy cosmonaut is on the ride of his life in brat-space. Be brave for me bratwurst. Be brave. I can hear it bouncing around the inside of the pan with a sound like a liver in a bass drum.

Suddenly- it happens in slow motion- the lid comes off and everything is airborne. The moment is a combination of shock and awe. I watch the slick, engorged bratwurst wobble through the air in glorious flight and a spray of thick meat juices. I can hear the brilliant chords of the theme from 2001: A Space Odyssey playing as the sausage reaches the apex of its arc. Somewhere in the back of my mind I feel as if I have inadvertently stumbled upon a homoerotic fan-fiction.

The sausage lands with an uninteresting ‘thppt’. The pan appears to be undamaged.

Everything is back to normal now. In one moment I had abandoned thousands of years of evolution, the next I am on my knees in the kitchen with an undamaged pan, an oleaginous mess, cold lunch, and a lid that could have served as a tank hatch in a past life.

And that is why you should always use the right size lid.

The Christmas Present Lie

Although I haven’t been inside an actual mall in years now I still remember just what it was like around Christmas. I recall waiting in long lines to see Santa, Christmas music barely audible over the din of talking people, the echoes off the large hallways and expansive storefronts, glitter, cotton, fake snow, and plastic decorations everywhere. Maybe there were ornate card stock snow flakes dangling from the ceiling and certainly there were lights and Christmas trees. What I remember most is that, to me, everything seemed tinged by an intangible warmth- a holiday glow as it were. I remember, too, waiting with solemn determination to state my carefully refined selections for presents. It was the time of year when my heart’s desires might appear beneath a tree if I made them known.

Of course, I was aware of where the gifts came from. I hadn't been under the false impression that my gifts were delivered by a large old man in a red suit save for a few years when I was particularly young. Although, coincidentally, several of my gifts were indeed delivered each year by an older man with a white beard and red clothes. That is to say, my grandfather in a red flannel. Yet for some reason, until sometime in my middle school years, I still went to see Santa at the mall with my sisters. Somehow that stranger in a red suit still seemed connected to the gifts I received. As if stating my wishes somehow made them more real than writing them on a Christmas list.

As a kid I gaped at adults when they told me that presents didn’t really matter to them. I was shocked that they could lie so plainly. Had they lied to themselves so convincingly that they now believed it? Presents were a huge part of the Christmas experience. What was Christmas without presents? Without something to unwrap? Surely something terrible had happened to them. I didn’t understand.

By 22 though I began to have some doubts. Still, even if I didn’t look forward to Christmas with quite the same excitement I would have been lying if I said I wasn’t excited. My gift preferences had just changed and there was less suspense. Also on some levels I didn’t always trust people to get me the right gifts for some of my more advanced interests, which limited my list somewhat.

Jumping forward to the present I am suddenly aware that I have been tainted. My younger self would be horrified to see me now. I spent months dragging my feet to put together a Christmas list, even under constant reminders from family who wanted to get their shopping done early. I literally spent several evenings staring at a blank document while I tried to figure out what I could reasonably ask for. I couldn’t think of any presents I that I really wanted.

Of course that’s actually a lie. My younger self was right about that much. I do still want presents, it’s just that the presents I want now won’t fit under a tree. If I was standing in line at the mall, amidst the color and the noise, I would also know just what I was going to ask for. As I approached the front the mall Santa would look around expectantly for my kid, only to realize with a dawning expression of confusion that I was unaccompanied. I would walk forward and the Santa would look at his elf helper, who would look at me and then back to Santa before putting up his hands and backing away slowly.

Sitting on Santa’s lap I would look at him and tell him, from one uncomfortable bearded man to another sweatier uncomfortable bearded man, that I had a few things I wanted for Christmas. “I would like a career that pays ‘enough’. I want to have no more debt. I would like time enough to pursue my creative and academic interests. I want to do what I love for work. And to stop having to rely on help just to get by. And a college education. And to be able to help my friends and family pursue their own dreams. And...”

Maybe Santa would smile a small smile and nod knowingly. Maybe mall security would gesture toward their radio, silently suggesting I move along. I don’t plan on visiting a mall Santa any time soon though so perhaps I’ll never know.