I’m going to go into a bit of radio silence here for a few days. Some things need taking care of, and until they are, I really don’t have it in me to write anything.
As I said the other day, writing’s been the best way to purge any and everything on my mind, and for the first time in a over a year, that’s not possible in the case. It’s frustrating for me to stare at a blank screen, cursor flashing, and have nary a thought to put down.
Not because I have no thoughts, but rather because they are either too jumbled to coherently type or too important to be expressed here in their first iteration. As such, until such things are properly dealt with, I’ll be in this current state, which benefits neither myself as a write nor you as a reader.
I’ll leave you with the introduction to the book, as a final big plug. It’s going to the printers on Friday, I hope, and by the middle of next week I’ll be sending them to various parts of the country. It’s exciting, but there’s something missing simultaneously. So much of what’s been recently been a part of my definition of “self” has disappeared, fallen to the wayside, been misplaced, and/or flat out left that the book seems to read almost as historical fiction rather than autobiography.
Gonna try and see if I can pull off a bit of a reclamation project. One step at a time. I’ll be back real soon, I promise. But first things first, after all.
Least, according to the introduction.
This is the point in most books where the author gives you some sort of seemingly off the cuff series of remarks about how silly introductions are, and “Who really reads these anyways?”, and a bunch of contrite, clichéd statements that you as a reader simply skip over to see if the book has any pictures of Justin Timberlake in it.
So, far be it for me to buck convention.
If you have this in your hands, chances are you’ve come across my site on more than one occasion. For you, this will be like a sort of "Nick at Nite" reading experience. You’ll be able to go, “Oh, yea, I remember this one!” or “This is the one where he gets kidnapped by a llama!” or “If I’m not mistaken, this is the one where he talks about himself!” (The latter of which is a most excellent bet. So excellent that Vegas won’t put odds on it anymore.)
Instead of simply putting forth what I feel are some of the better articles of the last year (ie, the ones that contained verbs and the occasional adjective with a slight dose of gerund when I was feeling saucy), I decided to split them up according to incredibly arbitrary categories which, when held up under close scrutiny, will fall as quickly as this sentence would. Whew. Inhale. There we go. Much better.
As such, you’ve got four separate sections from which to choose. It’s kind of like “Choose Your Own Adventure”, except that you can’t actually choose your own adventure. You can just read about my obsession with “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”. Which is almost the same, except for the “not at all” part of it.
The first section, “Lather, Rinse, Repeat”, features a compendium of (hopefully) comic essays. Anything and everything is fair game here. If you don’t find them funny, don’t tell me. I’m fragile.
In the next part, “Love is a Battlefield”, I tackle the world of dating and male/female relations in general. I’d love to say that, at the end of this section, men and women will learn to get along in a more positive way, but I’d be lying, so I won’t say that. (Feel free to have PSI Identification Parties, though. I won’t charge you royalties or anything. And yes, that will all make sense once you read the section. Aren’t I clever? Drawing you in like that? I’m smooth. Seven inches from the mid-day sun Santana-esque smooth.)
Following close on the heels of the revelations in “Battlefield” comes a series of articles dedicated to observations of the pop culture world of 2003. This section, “Concerning Culture: A Blogger’s Tale”, will be of no interest if the words “Frodo”, “Ang Lee”, “Jack Black”, or “Jack White” mean nothing to you. The rest of you will be reminded of all that which you tried to forget. In both cases, you’re welcome.
The last, and longest, section features the closet thing to a true narrative arc you’ll find in this little tome. The story will be clear enough. No real explanation needed. “Lithium Sunset” serves to show what the past year has meant (and done) to me.
For a while, I considered adding a postscript to “Lithium Sunset”, and finally decided against it. Yes, it ends abruptly. Yes, it fairly comes from out of nowhere, but this whole endeavor here is not only a reflection of a year in the online life, but also a year in the ongoing life. And life is messy and untidy and full of out-of-left-field surprises both wonderful and painful. So I’ve left well enough alone, leaving instead all of the hurt and hope I had near the end of last year. It’s all there, untouched.
And it’s all there, warts and all, right down to the text itself. I’ve tried as best to leave the text error-free, as have my brigade of volunteer editors, but please forgive any imperfections you may find. I might have messed up here and there, but never for lack of trying.
This book is a culmination of over a year of writing. None of this writing was ever conceived as being anything but pixels on a screen, so to have them in the hands of readers such as yourself is quite thrilling, scary, and strange all at once. Too many people are responsible in the end to thank here and know without making this already lengthy tome the size of a James Michener novel.
So thanks to the readers and fellow bloggers and the editors and the ex-lovers and all that good stuff. This book is your work, or your fault, depending on your current perspective.
But above all, this is for my family. Through the good and the bad. And through the future.