The Future of M.A.M.S.

While I’m not convinced that my longevity as a blogger is a given, I do understand that if I don’t put out content, people won’t read. Even if it’s crap, it’s out there and someone will eventually stumble over it like a tricycle in the yard. However, the demands of my real job are going to cut into my ability to keep up with this. Why? Because, I spend more time on the road and have less time in the evening to write. I have to balance this with other stuff like shirt designs and family. So, it’s safe to say that I may not make my long standing quota of three posts a week. Believe me, if I could do this for a living, full time, I would.

In fact that segues right into my point, the future. Call it “Writing as a white space.” For those of you not familiar with the term, it means that exploring a part of the business that I have not yet capitalized on, yet. I started out blogging. I moved onto shirt design. I moved into social media. I blogged more about how all of those concepts work together. I made money on the shirt side, but not the other stuff. Granted, some of the shirt money might have come from those other input channels but most of my sales are because someone went searching blindly on a shirt site or search engine and landed on my designs and clicked “ADD TO CART”.

So, why not use the shirt business to sell some books? Now, I’m talking about selling other people’s books. I’m talking about writing my own. It’s something I’ve been kicking around for awhile now and I better jump on it soon. Why?

Self publishing is right up my alley because I’m a cheap ass, lazy entrepreneur. As a kid, I had this dream of being a writer. When I was 12, I wrote my first story. When I was thirteen, I wrote my second one. When I was fourteen, I wrote my third one. When I was fifteen, I quit writing.

Why?

In those three years, I wrote the stories but did nothing else with them. I had delusions of actually being a paid writer and didn’t think about getting a publisher or what it costs to print and sell a book or the actual need for my work in the market. When I realized that, it was either never going to happen or take a while to happen, I switched game plans. In either case, it was not profitable. But, I held onto the works just in case. Hell, those stories are probably sitting on a 5 ¼ “ floppy disk somewhere in my parents’ house.

20 years ago, I could never conceive of actually becoming a published author, but, in today’s world, a writer can simply write, upload and sell their work for Kindles and Nooks and bypass publishers all together. Some have actually sold a million copies of their books, strictly through ebook sales. So, I am going to try an experiment. I am going to write a book on exactly what I’ve done in the last few years from the business side. I will then attempt to sell it on Amazon or through my site (Those details are sketchy). If I can make a case to myself that it is worth me putting forth the time to write something with the expectation of being paid for it, then I will revisit the idea of creative fiction. Believe me, I still have stories floating around in my head that my nearest and dearest friend/editor has told me to get written.

The caveat is that I have to see a significant interest in this venture before I take the time to attempt a 300 page novel. I just don’t have that kind of free time. Not to mention, I have a few friends with degrees in English and teaching that would probably want to see me DIAF if I actually wrote something and tried to sell it for profit.

The reason I am trying to fast track this experiment is that the new fad smell of self publishing and Kindles are probably going to wear off, soon. Stephen King had once said (paraphrased) that “Ebooks would account for probably 50% of all book sales by 2013. Maybe 2012.” However, he also says that people get tired of the new toys.

By that note, I have an ever shrinking window of opportunity to establish myself before the fad of ebooks or self publishing becomes the MySpace or worse, Friendster of writing avenues.

I still plan to blog as much as possible because I have a great source of material, my kid. Still, the point of MAMS was to rant and rave over the decline of entertainment via the distorted view of a pop culture observer. Those posts take a lot more time to prepare and vet and I have neither the time nor the ambition to do actual research.

I do hope those 4.5 readers I still may have will keep on reading but don’t be surprised if you wake up on a Monday, Wednesday or Friday and don’t see anything new… or worth reading for that matter.

The Cursor Blinks In A Mocking Fashion

I’m staring at a blank screen. The little cursor blinks in a mocking fashion. I have such a mental block that it frustrates the hell out of me. I have so few precious moments to sit and spew forth all the pent up strangeness that inhabits my brain and to waste them by staring at a blinking cursor is ironic.

Does that ever happen to you? There are times when I have so many ideas in my head just waiting to burst forth, like Athena ready for battle, and I find myself inundated with other tasks that I cannot get the voices to be quiet and wait for a moment when I have the capacity to explore them. Then, when I find myself with ample amounts of moments with little to no distractions, I just sit there and go all catatonic.

I’ve tried everything from putting on music to just going to a quiet place and organize my mental schedule and the brain just locks up like an engine void of oil.

I try to do my best to put out three posts a week and sometimes I phone them in, I mean seriously, do you really care about Jar Jar Binks or Return of the Jedi that much that you would applaud my efforts to expound on their impact on pop culture? The fact that I just typed out that statement with a straight face shows I need help. Let’s face it, for someone who wanted/wants to be a writer, I’m dropping the ball on quality.

The three post a week rule was more for me than anyone else. I’m trying to stave off a stagnated mind and enhance what little skills I have left, if I ever had them to start. I’m not saying that the views I get from day to day are anything to laugh at. Readership, or at least views of the blog, has increased but sooner or later, Cousin Oliver is going to kill the ratings here. Cousin Oliver being my inability to come up with something good to write about it.

The easy answer is that I’m trying too hard. I know that seems laughable when you continue read, what is now, six paragraphs of shit. I mean “trying too hard” in that I’m trying to force magic. I’m trying to produce something to hit a deadline. I’m throwing away quality in favor of quantity. Post, post, post or the readers will go away, right? But when you have little time to write because you have a family and a full time job along with a part time job that feels like a full time job you begin to think that maybe pulling the plug is the best option.

Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. It’s OK. I know you just feigned shock and sadness at the prospect that the least read blog in the world was going to call it quits like Amanda Bynes or more like Brett Favre. Truth is, I want to write. Sometimes I feel like if this was a full time gig I’d find better topics and more inspiration instead of scuttling it to the back of brain and telling it to wait a moment. Sort of like telling that to a child who wants to you inform you of some huge important deal like the puppy just licked his nose.

I guess that’s enough for Monday. I guess that’s a post. I’ll take it, for now. Tomorrow is another day.

The Path of Most Resistance

Some people dream of being caught in public in only their underwear.  Others dream of their teeth crumbling and falling out.   I've had those dreams.  But I constantly have dreams where I am late for work or some other appointment and as much as I try to get to my destination, something always keeps me from reaching it.   Usually, I am late for work, but on occasion, I am late for school in these dreams.  That is such an odd concept for me as I've been out of school for ten years now.  Still, the dream always has the same premise.   I am late for something and I need to get there, yesterday.  I either have no clean clothes to wear or my car doesn't want to start.  A few times, as I'm heading to my car, the phone rings or another member of my family get in my way to tell me something that causes me to stop my progress.  Ultimately, I wake up, never reaching my desired location.  Sometimes I wonder if my dreams are just an interpretation of everyday life. 

Try this on for size.  This has probably happened to you.   You get up for work the same time you always do.  You go about your normal routine but something happens.  You get something on your clothes that forces you to change, or perhaps you realize that those pants don't fit anymore.   Now you are three minutes off of your normal schedule.  You think, "No problem.  I'll just make it up in the car."    So, you head out the door and you are on your way.  That's where the issue escalates.  Because you are three minutes behind, you are now in sync with the school bus schedule and that big yellow bastard just pulled out in front of you.   Worse yet, every three houses there are kids waiting.  You spend more time on your brake than the gas pedal.  The clock keeps ticking but you aren't moving.  You get to a school zone and of course have to slow down to 15mph or you'll be pulled over.   The bus finally turns and now you've traded for a vehicle that constantly stops for one that doesn't know how to go.   The car that is now in front of you is the kind that brakes up hill and thinks that the speed limit is an insane concept designed by drivers on the autobahn.   The driver is either half asleep or fixing their make up and doesn't know what the long skinny pedal looks like.   For what feels like a half hour, you are stuck behind the tortoise and once they get out of your way you now find yourself 15 minutes behind schedule....and you forgot your purse briefcase, lunch, homework, etc. 

I face this challenge everyday.  Thursday's are even worse.  I have to leave work at 3:30 PM so that I can make it home in time to take over baby watching duties for my piano teaching in the evening wife.    The trip is only 12 miles and I can make it in less than a half hour.  But for some reason it doesn't matter if I leave work five minutes early or five minutes late, I am always running behind and have to juggle changing out of my work attire with a baby who now can crawl faster than the people drive in front of me on my way home.   I either catch the back end of a yellow light that screws everything up, or I get behind a school bus on its way to drop off the youth of America.  I will probably have to adjust my schedule even more and leave an hour early just so I can anticipate the funeral procession that I will probably be stuck behind next time.    Going to work, I'm not so concerned with because I tend to leave early anyways, because I know the issues I deal with on my trek across three school districts.  I do know that if I leave at a certain time I have a clear path all the way to work's front door.   If I am running behind and get out the door a little later, I know I'll have to deal with at least three school busses on every leg of the journey.  Fortunately, I know a few short cuts that get me ahead of the curve. 

Another example of what I call "Task Resistance" is the idea that if I have a plan to do something, whether it is work or play time related, I will never get the full use of my time.  Last night was another usual example.  I came home from work with the plan that once I have the baby down for her afternoon nap, I will have at least an hour of time to myself before my wife is done teaching and will want to watch the news.    With that time, I plan to get reacquainted with the world of Grand Theft Auto for my Playstation 2 because on Tuesday, April 29th, Grand Theft Auto IV will be released and I will be picking that up from work.   So, I get home, the baby goes down, and I'm free to fire up Vice City Stories.  First, I have to move all of the baby proofing from the glass entertainment center doors.  Then, I had to try and locate the memory card with my saved game which took me almost ten minutes to find.   Check and Check.  Off I go.  I get settled in and my wife decides she needs to get something in the back of the house and ultimately makes some noise that wakes the baby.  She goes back downstairs to finish teaching and I'm left with an awake and cranky baby.  I venture into the nursery and console the little one, finally getting her back down and by 5:38 PM I am back to my post.   Due to load times and a misfire by a rocket launcher, sending me into the stratosphere, I've managed to actually play for about five minutes.  The wife finishes up her lessons, so I switch back to the regular channels and we watch the news.  After the weather, I know I can continue for probably another half an hour before we have to get the baby up.  The weather segment ends, I pick up my controller, and the baby monitor springs to life as if I'm Mel Gibson and aliens have just landed in the corn fields outside my house.   So much for that.  

Today, when I get home, I will have an empty house because my wife has to drop off the baby at her parents' since our schedules don't line up.  This affords me maybe two hours of free time until I'm needed elsewhere.  However, I can only imagine the amount of obstacles I will face on my way back to Liberty City via my couch.  I have to leave work and drive a half hour to the store.  I'm sure there will be a line or some inept employee will screw up my order.  I spent five dollars to reserve the game, so they better damn well have one there for me.   Then, I have to get home in one piece.   Once there, I will probably have a half hour left before my wife shows up.  From there, any number of issues will arise.  "There's a spider in the bathroom."  "The garbage needs taken out."   "Why won't the dish washer run?"  "I can't reach this." 

I am constantly plagued by the work of outside forces bent on destroying me.  I have no way of clearly justifying my actions because they are in fact the childish actions of a 33 year old man who still plays video games, yet, I will beg, borrow, and steal whatever free time I can to enjoy five minutes of game playing.   I now know why men find solace with a newspaper in the bathroom.  I imagine that there are men who have bathrooms with walls that spin or retract to reveal all sorts of free time distractions.  Sort of a speak easy hiding our distractions and hobbies from the world.  Flat screen televisions fixed on Sports Center drop from the ceiling and the room becomes sound proof.  See, men don't actually go to the bathroom.  That's a myth.  We actually go there for peace and quiet.  We keep up the allusion by using a spray can of derider that is really filled with the nastiest fragrance on Earth.

So, here I am at 9 AM on Tuesday, hoping that the world doesn't end by 4 PM.  Perhaps I could get to the store faster if I stole a taxi, used a special code to make it jump over traffic, and showed total disregard for traffic laws and public safety to maximize my free time.   Who am I kidding?  With my luck, I'll still get stuck behind a bus.