Draft autosaved at 7:03 p.m., 7:04 p.m., 7:05 p.m.
Contrary to what my otherwise stream-of-conscious, often rambling (and utterly, utterly self-obsessed) blogs would indicate, I actually suffer from a condition rarely acknowledged by journalists--as it's an affliction that indicates to employers that you are unintentionally securing your spot near the top of the list of writers who will be replaced in three years when Microsoft creates an artificial intelligence program that can generate informative, pop culture-reference-laden copy in the time human writers take just to figure out which font best defines them as a person.
It's the only two word phrase that journalists dread more than "business casual" and "cash bar."
It's called writer's block.
And it's something I've struggled with from the moment I first realized a decade ago that I express myself far more eloquently in print than I do in person. (It's true. It's been repeatedly conveyed to me by everyone from my editor to my girlfriend to my uncle who believes that Larry The Cable Guy is the epitome of all things humor, that I'm nowhere near as witty a human being as I am a voice in a blog.)
So you'd think that I'd have a wealth of material to draw on at any given moment, considering that I can't adequately communicate verbally.
But, nope.
Since I know that a few of you who read this blog are aspiring writers yourself, I figured now was as good a time as any to let you know that it happens to everyone--even those of us who work in the swank AP skyscraper and who have recently developed a preternatural love of Iron Chef America.
Every day for the past five days or so (under the intense badgering of a certain unnamed co-worker), I've started to write a blog for this very website, and each time, I've been halted by a blank screen and a condescending, blinking cursor.
Since this blog site has a fun way of autosaving your drafts at one minute intervals even when no new letters have been added, I decided that I'd share with you my aborted blog intros over the past week. It's in the interest of science, as I hope that one day I can be part of the movement that vanquishes this debilitating illness forever (or until Microsoft unleashes that program and I can quit this charade in favor of a career breeding competitive Peruvian fighting frogs).
MONDAY MAY 26
"Well, today is Memorial Day and I'm spending it the way any red-blooded, god-fearing American would: In my boxers, inexplicably listening to the new Gavin Rossdale solo album and just drunk enough that I'm not filled with self-loathing about it. Yet."
Commentary: The fatal flaw here was that I attempted to blog while in a mildly intoxicated state--which always sounds like a great idea at first (how many times have you and your friends been trashed and began to write the pilot episode for your no-budget YouTube sketch comedy show just to realize six hours later that you've got no ideas on paper but you've played an entire season of Madden?). But writing under the influence, more often than not, leads to the types of over-informative, self-serving MySpace bulletins that say things like, "OMG. I HATE ALL MEN. ESPECIALLY MEN NAMED CHAD." or "I'm going to bed. I realized today that I need to start eating more yogurt. I'll let you know how it goes."
WEDNESDAY MAY 28
"So I realized today that you probably want this blog to be more about music and less about me. But I've got a blog and you don't, so you will listen to every damn word I have to type."
Commentary: A) This blog was starting out on a very belligerent note. B) It was blatantly stolen from a line in Adam Sandler's The Wedding Singer. They teach you in Intro to Journalism courses that as soon as you begin quoting any Adam Sandler movie (especially Little Nicky), it's best to walk away from the computer and possibly throw it out the nearest window.
THURSDAY MAY 29
"I realized today that I need to start eating more yogurt. I'll let you know how it goes."
Commentary: What would be next? A blog that's nothing more than a survey saying how many people in my Top 8 I've kissed? (For the record, that number would be three. If you're one of my MySpace friends, you'd realize why that's way more unsettling than it would seem.)
SATURDAY MAY 31
"All right. I'm out of ideas. What do you people want me to blog about? Wait. Instead of that, maybe I'll just write a blog about how I can't think of anything to blog about. Okay, here we go: Contrary to what my otherwise stream-of-conscious, often rambling (and utterly, utterly self-obsessed)... Wait. Eff this. That's far too self-referential for anyone other than me to find entertaining."
Commentary: My standards have apparently dropped in the past 18 hours. I blame Gavin Rossdale.
It's the only two word phrase that journalists dread more than "business casual" and "cash bar."
It's called writer's block.
And it's something I've struggled with from the moment I first realized a decade ago that I express myself far more eloquently in print than I do in person. (It's true. It's been repeatedly conveyed to me by everyone from my editor to my girlfriend to my uncle who believes that Larry The Cable Guy is the epitome of all things humor, that I'm nowhere near as witty a human being as I am a voice in a blog.)
So you'd think that I'd have a wealth of material to draw on at any given moment, considering that I can't adequately communicate verbally.
But, nope.
Since I know that a few of you who read this blog are aspiring writers yourself, I figured now was as good a time as any to let you know that it happens to everyone--even those of us who work in the swank AP skyscraper and who have recently developed a preternatural love of Iron Chef America.
Every day for the past five days or so (under the intense badgering of a certain unnamed co-worker), I've started to write a blog for this very website, and each time, I've been halted by a blank screen and a condescending, blinking cursor.
Since this blog site has a fun way of autosaving your drafts at one minute intervals even when no new letters have been added, I decided that I'd share with you my aborted blog intros over the past week. It's in the interest of science, as I hope that one day I can be part of the movement that vanquishes this debilitating illness forever (or until Microsoft unleashes that program and I can quit this charade in favor of a career breeding competitive Peruvian fighting frogs).
MONDAY MAY 26
"Well, today is Memorial Day and I'm spending it the way any red-blooded, god-fearing American would: In my boxers, inexplicably listening to the new Gavin Rossdale solo album and just drunk enough that I'm not filled with self-loathing about it. Yet."
Commentary: The fatal flaw here was that I attempted to blog while in a mildly intoxicated state--which always sounds like a great idea at first (how many times have you and your friends been trashed and began to write the pilot episode for your no-budget YouTube sketch comedy show just to realize six hours later that you've got no ideas on paper but you've played an entire season of Madden?). But writing under the influence, more often than not, leads to the types of over-informative, self-serving MySpace bulletins that say things like, "OMG. I HATE ALL MEN. ESPECIALLY MEN NAMED CHAD." or "I'm going to bed. I realized today that I need to start eating more yogurt. I'll let you know how it goes."
WEDNESDAY MAY 28
"So I realized today that you probably want this blog to be more about music and less about me. But I've got a blog and you don't, so you will listen to every damn word I have to type."
Commentary: A) This blog was starting out on a very belligerent note. B) It was blatantly stolen from a line in Adam Sandler's The Wedding Singer. They teach you in Intro to Journalism courses that as soon as you begin quoting any Adam Sandler movie (especially Little Nicky), it's best to walk away from the computer and possibly throw it out the nearest window.
THURSDAY MAY 29
"I realized today that I need to start eating more yogurt. I'll let you know how it goes."
Commentary: What would be next? A blog that's nothing more than a survey saying how many people in my Top 8 I've kissed? (For the record, that number would be three. If you're one of my MySpace friends, you'd realize why that's way more unsettling than it would seem.)
SATURDAY MAY 31
"All right. I'm out of ideas. What do you people want me to blog about? Wait. Instead of that, maybe I'll just write a blog about how I can't think of anything to blog about. Okay, here we go: Contrary to what my otherwise stream-of-conscious, often rambling (and utterly, utterly self-obsessed)... Wait. Eff this. That's far too self-referential for anyone other than me to find entertaining."
Commentary: My standards have apparently dropped in the past 18 hours. I blame Gavin Rossdale.
posted by Tim Karan at
6:09 PM
7 Comments:
This boombox needs batteries, dude.
You wrote of having writer's block, yet when I read your blog I swear it was just as if you were speaking, saying whatever came straight to mind and it became a nice and coherent. I guess I understand why one would assume your conversation skills match your writing.
But it gives me hope that even the most entertaining writers have to edit, re-edit and scrap and rewrite to come up with a blog, perfectly tinged with sarcasm =]
wow, amzingly funny, witty, and informative all at the same time. No wonder yours is the best blog out of the bunch ( O YA Scott i said it...STEP YO GAME UP!!!)
keep up the great blog bro
-ronny
P.S you keepin up with MLB??? whats with the Rays and how bout that phenom on the Reds
kyrck87,
thats EXACTLY what i was thinking :]
tim,
youre a fantastic (not to mention very humorous) writer. personally, reading your blogs is never a tedious task for me.
P.S: my personal highlight of this blog was the wedding singer reference :D
still not funny
passing time @ work, i'm making laughing noises and disturbing others; thank you.
really enjoyed your album cover one too.
HAHA! I swear, I'll probably be quoting this post to people who have no reason to know what I'm talking about, but I'll laugh, 'cause that was really really funny.
'Grats on being hilarious even when you have nothing hilarious to say.
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