The Rumors of My Demise Have Been Greatly Exaggerated…

It’s been a while, I know. Almost a year since I last posted something on this blog that’s been abandoned.

But some things have happened in the meantime…bought and moved into a new house, spent too much on new furniture, saw the new Star Wars movie three times, built a pretty sweet vinyl record collection – that’s a blog for another time, promise! – and turned 44 years old.

Oh, and my cat died. I miss him terribly.

Oh, and Donald Trump happened. Fuck that guy.

I would love to regale you with swashbuckling tales of literary madness, that I wrote a novel-length manuscript, got an agent, sold said manuscript to a publisher, and did a book reading tour in support of the book.

No, no, nope, and no. None of that happened. In fact, I stopped writing altogether.

I had some harsh conversations with myself about my writing. In short, I came to the realization that I don’t have the discipline (read: attention span) to write a full-length novel. Or a novella, for that matter. My writing comes in bursts, short threads that I can work with within a smaller confine, but this writing approach doesn’t work well when you’re trying to write 50,000 or more pages, then edit the fucking brute.

I would have seemed hypocritical from me to continue posting stuff on my blog about the “writing process” when I was failing miserably at it. About what little progress I was making. About how frustrating I found writing becoming.

So I gave up. No, not writing; posting on my blog.

What I did learn, much to my eternal surprise, is that I have a knack for poetry. Yup, poetry.

Why is this surprising? Because I used to hate poetry. HATE poety. HATED HATED HATED it. Honestly, it was personal biases that got in my way. Poetry always seemed soft and quaint, in the words of John Keating, something “to woo women with.” It wasn’t until I started reading what you can call “outlaw” poetry, i.e., the Beat Poets, Richard Brautigan, Sapphire, and, of course, Charles Bukowski, that I saw writing in riddles and codes, dancing with metaphors and similes, that’s when I was able to unlock why poetry matters.

I did find a community of poets and writers on Instagram, of all places, that willingly and openly shared their work. Since I was there already, I figured I would jump into the pool. My first attempts were tentative, small attempts at mimicking what I knew. The more work I read on IG, the more I felt confident about posting my own words. In the year or so that I began posting my poetry and micro-poetry on IG (more than 700 posts!), I’ve garnered a pretty sizable following, and have made strong connections with the poetry community on IG.

Time, then, to also start showcasing my poetry here.

Capture

I have no bold plans for this blog, nor do I have bold plans for my writing. I’m still writing poetry, which I will be posting here frequently (and thank you in advance for reading it; critiques are welcome, unabashed fandom is greatly recommended), and I’ll update my site on random thoughts and observations that come to mind. Just not politics, though; my political ranting days are over, and, besides, with the public cannibalism that goes for presidential campaigning these days, my teeth-gnashed rants are not the sort of thing I want to contribute. I’ll wear my politics on my sleeve and go about my business.

(Team Bernie, in case you’re wondering…)

I can’t promise exciting things, other than I’m helping out on an anthology that will hopefully see the light of day this spring, and putting together a collection I will self-publish before the year is through.

And fuck Donald Trump.

Thanks for reading. Talk soon.

.

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24 thoughts on “The Rumors of My Demise Have Been Greatly Exaggerated…

  1. Yay Bernie! And I already follow you on IG so I have been enjoying the poetry and words all along. happy to see them here now too 🙂

    (formerly known as NAPR)

  2. Welcome back, Gus! I understand about the “stuff happens” issue. We all experience that, and there’s no easy way to deal with it, except…deal with it. Besides, how we writers deal with life is how we end up producing great work. Just keep at it, brother! At your own pace.

  3. I’m happy to learn you’re not dead. I never saw you here, I never saw you on Goodreads and I worried. Really. But what the fuck do you care?

    Mr. Big Shot!

    So happy belated birthday and congrats on the new house and I look forward to learn what you’re listening to. I heard the new Star Wars movie wasn’t all that great – more a reworking of the first one than anything “new”. You agree?

    If a novel is too much why not flash fiction? Or maybe that’s what you’re doing.

    I won’t follow you on Instagram because I don’t know what it is and I dislike social media enough to not want to find out.

  4. Gus, It’s a treat to read a new posting from you. I’m looking forward to your poetry. I understand completely about life changes and new territories we find ourselves in. I guess I can say if you live long enough, you can’t not experience some major life changes. As for writing, for the major part of last year I had to lay aside my manuscript editing to focus on caring for my ailing dog, home repairs, and so on. But all the while I jotted down reminders to myself for when I did return to focus on completing my manuscript. Hey, congrats on your new home and sorry to hear about your cat. I’m missing my canine companion, too.

  5. I pretty much took 2015 off, too. It was a helluva bitchuva cuntuva year. Glad to read you’re still hanging in there. Congrats on the new house. Condolences on the cat. Take it easy, brah. Yeah, I said, “brah.”

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