I decided to take the plunge and throw myself into the literary abyss and proclaim myself a writer. Or is it a blogger? An author? Whatever. The point is, writing has been a hobby of mine that is just now getting the attention from me that it deserves. I may be forty as fuck, but I’m of the mind that it’s never too late to start.
So, in the interest of staving off my midlife crisis, which seems to have already introduced itself in the form of deep thoughts and self-medication, I’m putting pen-to-paper in a shitty attempt to use writing as therapy. Granted, I have written my first novel – yet to be published – and found it to be tremendously therapeutic, even more so than marijuana or booze. Or marijuana and booze.
I must warn you, reader, that this blogtastic (yes, this a word) journey will be completely unedited and is basically me shooting shit from the hip. Unless I’ve been asked and/or paid, I don’t see the point in editing and proofreading as it seems to take away from the artistry of freeform wordsmithing. If you hate reading shitty prose, then this probably isn’t for you.
What can you expect?
Well, honesty, for starters. I believe tremendously in using foul language and may even throw in a few un-PC terms, though I will NOT use derogatory racial slurs or sexual slurs as I just find them tasteless, disrespectful and childish. You will see lots of variations of the word fuck, though, I guaran-fucking-tee.
These blogs will be shitty. I promise. Each entry will basically be a drunken and/or high unedited diatribe of my experiences, both past and present – and future if I get high enough – and will delve into the most pointless shit that has ever crossed my mind.
“Oh, great, we’ve got a wannabe Hunter S. Thompson…” you’re probably thinking.
You’re right. I loved Hunter S. Thompson and would love to be able to write like him, but I’m not suicidal, so I think our styles will be a bit different. Also, I don’t do that many drugs, not even over-the-counter, except for the occasional medicinal joint and glass of single malt Scotch, two fingers, neat. Oh, and the occasional white wine. No, I don’t have a preference. As long as it’s not red, I don’t really give a shit.
I’ll understand completely if you read something of mine and either unfollow me on Twitter, unfriend me on Facebook or unsubscribe from my blog and will probably take it personally. I’ll hate you forever, but there’s only so many people I can love anyways.
So, if you’re not bored out of your mind already and want nothing to do with this, then welcome to the journey.
This is literally my first blog (I still don’t know what a blog is) entry and can’t wait to do the next one.
When, you ask?
I plan on doing a blog entry every week. And by “every week” I mean “whenever the fuck I can get around to it”.
M James Conway.