Feeling a Bit...Broken
After dropping off the wife and kids this morning, I returned home to settle in and do some work for the day but instead found myself surfing around the blogosphere for about 5 hours. I think it started because I finished reading Cerebus last night and I moved on to reading Following Cerebus (which is a critical analysis of that epic story) and it got me online reading posts about Dave Sim and the whole gender-issue thing, then I was reading the Cerebus Diablog, then ended up on some other blogs talking about Final Crisis, then I landed at Valerie D’Orazio's Occasional Superheroine blog and that was it for the next few hours. Hell, I was still reading it just before coming on here and posting this. The damn thing is addictive.
As a result, I find myself more than a bit broken, at the moment. Not in a bad way, really, but something inside has been sufficiently jarred by reading all the Dave and Valerie and the others that I'm sort of sitting here dumbfounded and reanalyzing all the decisions I've made in my life. I know that sounds mental, but I can't really explain what it was, in particular, that caused the proverbial plates to shift. Possibly it was having to sit there and really think about what the hell Sim was saying in the last 80 issues of Cerebus. There's a lot going on and, to be honest, the "Latter Days" commentaries on the Bible were so much of a chore to read that a lot of the narrative flow and thematic drive was lost for me. Another possibility is that reading D'Orazio's frank and honest discussions/confessions regarding her time in the comic book industry and her overall commentary on pop-culture in general remind me of what I set out to do, originally, with my own blog. Something, I feel, I have yet to achieve and I'm four years in. Not only am I still looking for my voice, I feel as though I'm operating in a vacuum. Familiar territory for me, to be sure, but disheartening nonetheless.
And yes, I know, if you love writing and were meant to write, something like a lack of an audience shouldn't stop one from working on their craft. At the very least it shouldn't stop them from trying. I mean, you always read about or hear about people who are writing on shoelaces if they can't find paper to scribble on because the need strikes them so powerfully at times that nothing will get in their way of a proper information dump. Yet here I am, wishing that I could have a just a little feedback or recognition and using it as an excuse to not write that short story, or not write that screenplay or comic book or critical analysis or what have you.
I acknowledge that I'm insecure and crave validation. This isn't news to me. My problem is that I have yet to overcome these crippling feelings and find myself being productive and contributing something of value to myself and others.
So, like I said, broken. I feel like one of those Christmas presents that has been shaken too vigorously and whatever was inside of it has totally shattered and makes that ominous swishing/tinkling noise as the pieces roll around at the bottom of the box.
It is now 11 P.M. and I work tomorrow. Why do these things always happen when, instead of actively trying to exorcise these demons, I have to go and peddle hardware for 8 hours?
On that note...
As a result, I find myself more than a bit broken, at the moment. Not in a bad way, really, but something inside has been sufficiently jarred by reading all the Dave and Valerie and the others that I'm sort of sitting here dumbfounded and reanalyzing all the decisions I've made in my life. I know that sounds mental, but I can't really explain what it was, in particular, that caused the proverbial plates to shift. Possibly it was having to sit there and really think about what the hell Sim was saying in the last 80 issues of Cerebus. There's a lot going on and, to be honest, the "Latter Days" commentaries on the Bible were so much of a chore to read that a lot of the narrative flow and thematic drive was lost for me. Another possibility is that reading D'Orazio's frank and honest discussions/confessions regarding her time in the comic book industry and her overall commentary on pop-culture in general remind me of what I set out to do, originally, with my own blog. Something, I feel, I have yet to achieve and I'm four years in. Not only am I still looking for my voice, I feel as though I'm operating in a vacuum. Familiar territory for me, to be sure, but disheartening nonetheless.
And yes, I know, if you love writing and were meant to write, something like a lack of an audience shouldn't stop one from working on their craft. At the very least it shouldn't stop them from trying. I mean, you always read about or hear about people who are writing on shoelaces if they can't find paper to scribble on because the need strikes them so powerfully at times that nothing will get in their way of a proper information dump. Yet here I am, wishing that I could have a just a little feedback or recognition and using it as an excuse to not write that short story, or not write that screenplay or comic book or critical analysis or what have you.
I acknowledge that I'm insecure and crave validation. This isn't news to me. My problem is that I have yet to overcome these crippling feelings and find myself being productive and contributing something of value to myself and others.
So, like I said, broken. I feel like one of those Christmas presents that has been shaken too vigorously and whatever was inside of it has totally shattered and makes that ominous swishing/tinkling noise as the pieces roll around at the bottom of the box.
It is now 11 P.M. and I work tomorrow. Why do these things always happen when, instead of actively trying to exorcise these demons, I have to go and peddle hardware for 8 hours?
On that note...
posted by Mike Jozic at
8:36 PM
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