Recursive Words

The clock is inexorably ticking towards midnight. Thursday has almost given way to Friday, and once again I find myself wondering where the week has gone. I’m also wondering what on earth I might share. Having nothing of consequence to share hasn’t stopped me in the past, so we’ll see where this goes.

I’ve just spent the last ten minutes doing anything but write. I’ve made a coffee, chosen some music, tidied the room up, checked the news…

Some days the words come. Some days they don’t.

Not leaving the house for days on end doesn’t help. Every day becomes Groundhog Day – up, shower, dressed, coffee, empty the dishwasher, empty the bins, work, coffee, work, make some lunch and fill the washing machine, fold clothes, work, coffee, work, help with dinner, eat, wash up, record something for YouTube, put the dishwasher on, tidy the kitchen up (again), then noodle around with computers or the internet until stupid o’clock before reading in bed and falling asleep a few pages further on in whatever book I’ve been trying to read.

It’s relentless.

It will surprise nobody to learn that I’m already eyeing the point at which I might retire – or rather the point at which I might step away from a “normal” job, and go full-time as a content creator. I’m not really sure it will scale, but it would be interesting to find out. I guess the only risk is the thing I do for fun at the moment would become work – and that would kind of remove the fun from it.

In a perfect world I would write for a living. Unfortunately the market for breathless tales about sitting in the junk room each day, rambling on about nothing in particular is probably non existent. I’m a pragmatist, if nothing else.

I’ve always wondered how the economics of “being an author” work – because unless you’re one of the luck 1% that have “made it”, I can’t see how they keep their head above water. I’ve always suspected that most authors either have a “real job”, or they inherited wealth from elsewhere. I’m guessing everybody knows that most magazine journalists back in the day were unpaid interns – the children of wealthy families that could bank-roll them? It explains a lot.

Anyway.

While procrastinating famously a little earlier, I decided to resume an experiment. Rather than choose one place for the blog to exist, I’m going to let it co-exist in several places simultaneously – at WordPress, Tumblr, and Substack. Feel free to frequent whichever makes most sense for you.

I should really go brush my teeth, then head to bed. We all know staying up late to avoid tomorrow doesn’t work. It’s a fun game to play though, isn’t it.