It's a funny thing; when I started this blog--THUNDERJOURNAL--back in 2002 (officially), I had all the writing confidence in the world. After all, I'd been writing for newspapers and magazines for a whopping four+ years up to that point, so of course I thought I knew everything and assumed people would just be in awe of my literary wordplay.
Plus, I was 27, which is an age not yet tempered by the fierce forge of experience and exposure to the wider world. It's funny how you can tack on nine or ten years and all of a sudden doubt borne of nascent wisdom starts to creep in.
After years of slogging through seemingly endless blog comment thread wars, dodging, parrying and thrusting my way through largely pointless and time-consuming argumentative tit-for-tats, it gradually sunk in that some people simply will never agree with me. That, strangely, also breeds doubt, even though those people are nevertheless clearly in the wrong and always will be. It's disheartening to know I'll never sway some people's minds, no matter how deftly I can turn a phrase.
Okay, I'm kidding, mostly. Still, back in 2002 - 2005, at least the comment wars were largely limited to people who inhabited a familiar blog sphere of influence. Now, I take an ill-advised trip through comment threads appended to news articles, and the ignorance, ad hominem attacks, strawmen and just plain tired old arguments that were tired and old years and years ago, grates on the enthusiasm.
Also, you know how I had newspaper and magazine writing experience back in 2002? It really doesn't help the old confidence to know those mediums are mostly dead and dying. Sure, I still write for both, but the old dreams of writing for TIME now strike me as the equivalent of wanting to know how a VCR or Victrola works.
Writing for the diminished online attention span is disheartening in its own way. After years of coming up with fun ways to turn a clever phrase, it's soul crushing to have search engine optimization (SEO) rules--whatever the hell they may be from week to week--looking over my shoulder, reminding me to write like an automaton so whatever I'm writing has a shot of maybe, possibly hitting the top 20 Google search results. Writing should be fun, not a factory.
All of this has stacked up over the years, resulting in a sort of debilitating writer's block, although "writer's block" isn't really the right term, because I have plenty of ideas to write about. However, I hesitate to write them down because I just don't have the same confidence, which is weird when you consider I'm writing freelance articles for a living.
Every time I confront a fresh article, I have to sweep all this mental baggage under the couch and plow ahead largely without thinking, because if I ponder on something too long, eventually I'll find myself staring at a blinking cursor, unable to write the next sentence.
My wife bought me a genuine Moleskine for my birthday a few years ago, and I thought at the time "Huh, a fancy-looking notebook." I had no idea that "Moleskine" is something of a hallmark of the SERIOUS WRITERS of the world. Had I known, I maybe wouldn't have filled the first few pages with doodles of a super hero punching an old man in the groin, with Batman-esque words like "WANG!" and "SMASHED DEFERENS!" and "EPIDY-MASH!" and "URETHR'OWN'D."
I clearly have unresolved issues.
Obviously, my blogging--sorry. . . THUNDERJOURNALING--hasn't been particularly prolific as of late. There's a multitude of reasons for this, but the primary culprits have been child raising difficulties and a rather bountiful freelance writing burden.
Child raising "difficulties" suggests something ominous, but that's misleading. Zoey simply continues to be a ridiculously uninterested eater, which strains our patience and stress tolerances to the breaking point. I never thought a baby could be so indifferent to the survival necessity that is eating. When I try to feed her, she'd much rather just look up at me and smile, which is cute and all, but doesn't do much for her weight; if anything, it probably burns calories. She's better about eating when my wife wields the bottle, but only barely.
As for freelance work, I has it. I have two primary clients right now, and they both are asking for articles galore. One client happens to pay considerably more than the other, so I've been favoring the hand that feeds me more, for obvious reasons. I do so at the peril of losing the other client, so it's a tricky balancing act, but it's been fun. He says, knowing two months down the road the freelance could dry up yet again.
It's weird to think I jumped without a net over a year ago. Obviously, a whole hell of a lot has transpired since that time, but generally speaking I've remained on my feet--currently, I'm actually making more money than when I was employed, although sans benefits, which is perpetually concerning.
I still regularly dip a toe into Monster.com and CareerBuilder.com--and LinkedIn, to some extent--but none of the job descriptions really appeal to me, and most of them require an hour or more commute one way, which is something I'd consider only under dire financial circumstances. As it is, freelance work is pouring in, and I'm working from home, with a little boy who toddles into my office once a day and peeps "Oh, hi!" as if he doesn't expect to encounter me in here, although he totally does. In other words, I'm kind of living a work-at-home dream. That's not to say there aren't stresses involved, but they're more than manageable.
Honestly, I'm not sure how I would have juggled an actual 9 - 5 office job during the first four months of this year, considering our hospital vigil with Zoey. Just writing one or two freelance articles a month back then was a Herculean task when combined with the grueling hospital schedule and the omnipresent haze of depression that hung over everything we did like an oppressive cloud. Working in an office environment during that time would likely have driven me entirely insane, versus the moderate insanity I emerged with as it is.
My wife has picked up an affinity for online auction bidding, which is a good mental distraction for her so she's not thinking about only the kids all day, every day. Her auction wins so far have been mixed, but she's getting better at sniffing out the potential good deals. We got into a bidding war for a car yesterday, and we very nearly emerged with a former police cruiser Ford Crown Victoria, which would have been fun to drive around in, but we eventually were outbid and we couldn't bring ourselves to go a tad higher. For two people who love to gamble in Vegas, this was no small feat. Pressing the Bid button is equivalent to saying "hit me" at the blackjack table.
We're gradually emerging from the mental funk of our NICU days and finding our footing as a family of four, to use way too many "Fs" in a sentence. My sense of humor is starting to return, although I can imagine a fair amount of people would disagree with that assessment.
Overall, I can't say I'm going to miss 2011 when when the clock strikes midnight on December 31, but I suppose it could have been worse. Then again, we still have four months to go, so who knows what could yet be lurking in the "bad luck" bushes. Hopefully there's an entire hedgerow of good luck awaiting us yet. That I'm even entertaining such a thought speaks volumes of my returning optimism.
As part of that returning optimism, I'm going to try to re-invigorate this blog with more frequent updates, and not just YouTube videos, which is the lazy person's approach to blogging, in my opinion. This Rambling Rhodes blog provided a serious therapeutic outlet back when I desperately needed it most. The least I can do is keep it going a bit longer to say "thank you."
