The last time I wrote a blog post was about 4 years ago. My friends — the ones I met through blogging, which was embarrassing back then though merely called “networking” now — and I shut down our somewhat-popular blogs because we were no longer interested in writing for free.
“Fuck this shit, man! I could be out there making $1 per word! All this brainpower could be going to a novel! All these insights and quips wasted on goddamn Livejournal! Do these people even get get it? Fuck this shit.”
So we all split up in an attempt to get paid to write. Some went this way into screenwriting, others went that way into editing content websites, and I stuck to writing bits for magazines while failing to pump out a book on the side–
–but constantly thinking of it, which hurt more. I procrastinated writing this book by: amassing design clients; growing my assets; trading stocks; launching a pantyhose company; launching a fitness information product company; heavily researching affiliate marketing; moving to goddamn Thailand. All of this to dodge writing the book so badly wanted to write! So, ironically, I’m the spectacular man I am today because I was procrastinating to become the man that I wanted to be–
You see, what I did by not blogging consistently was destroy my ability to write at all. Malcolm Gladwell’s 10,000 hours of practice, and all that. I was on a roll, and now after 4 years, I’m back to square one. Fine.
It’s stupid that hubris was my downfall. Hubris. That’s the shit that happens to Greek gods whose overconfidence eventually — usually — leads to punishment through some form of incest. Hubris is the downfall for megalomaniacal dictators, religious zealots, rock stars, superior blue aliens, child actors and Steve Irwin (“All animals love the shit out of me! All!”). Not for mildly-popular bloggers who got a few laughs and maybe a few dates out of it.
Not a few. Lots. Jesus Christ, I was king.