I probably post too much.
Most of you who visit would probably nod your head and agree. Yeppers, that Michael Raven guy publishes too many posts. You might be surprised, then, when I say that I actually restrain myself from essentially posting all day long — be it poetry, short fiction, or mindless drivel like this post. I wouldn’t get any paying stuff done. But I’ll admit that it is tempting all the same some days — especially when you see some of the things I am forced to write. Ugh.
And probably explains why I have boxes upon boxes of slain trees from that time period before computers were easy to use, cheap and so ubiquitous as to fill most of the pockets in the developed world. There was a reason why I had the proverbial writer’s cramp and it tweaked my fingers into a trigger-figure grip, a wrist requiring a brace, a heel of a hand callused from rubbing along paper, and two parents weeping silently about how they were singlehandedly keeping the paper mills in business. [The last is only a slight exaggeration.]
I currently have about 20-30 private or unpublished posts that didn’t meet my admittedly low standard for being published. And that’s just since about June and doesn’t count the other pieces that I’ve written that I’ve considered posting here in several different storage places (Google Drive, flash drives, Dropbox Paper, a Pixelbook, and others). Nor does it count the pieces I never intended to go anywhere, or the professional technical writing I do for my bread and butter.
I write with abandon.
I wouldn’t even claim to say any of it is very good, but I occasionally subscribe to the old adage that “practice makes perfect” (although I have reservations about the perfect part, I don’t grok how perfect is determined yet). I don’t expect to be considered good, let alone perfect, but I march on, hoping that — like a million monkeys with typewriters — I’ll eventually write something noteworthy enough to get more thumbs up than thumbs down. With enough monkey’s even Shakespeare could be outdone, or so they say.
It’s an asocial disease.
So, as you drink you morning (or evening coffee) and read my overzealous posts, just remember that it could probably be worse. At least I don’t probably don’t expect a response to prove you’ve read it.
By the way: the test is on Friday.