The Entertaining, Unavailing Diddly-Squat Manifesto

When I created this blog site in July, I did so because I was going to be leaving my job, which involved a lot of deadline writing, to become a full-time stay at home dad. I felt I needed to do this in order to force myself to continue writing something each day – without the specter of a deadline, be it externally imposed or self-imposed, hanging over me, I feared that I wouldn’t feel like I had any reason to write anything at all.

To an extent that is probably true. There’s a problem with that line of thinking, though: there is no more effective way to suck the joy out of an activity than to do it because you have to, or else the paychecks will stop coming and the eviction notices and repo men will begin to take their place. Where The Fear dwells, fun cannot stay.

After some time, it has finally begun to dawn on me that I can now keep doing this without a need to place deadlines upon myself, that I can simply let myself spew out whatever zaps through my neurons at any given moment and publish it for anyone to read on at any time on any bizarre whim of their own. And when that happens — holy crap! — it actually becomes fun. Hopefully, it’s also fun for anyone who happens to stumble across the results. It’s incredibly weird to know that after just three months of its existence, already an average of 50 or so people, most of whom I have probably never met in my life and never will meet, visit this site each day. Whoever you are, I thank you and I hope you’re getting something out of it, although I have no idea what that could possibly be.

This way of approaching the task of writing has its pitfalls as well. Namely, when the possibilities are endless and you can write about anything you want on pure passing whimsy without regard to deadline, you sometimes can’t think of anything to write about at all. While staring into the white light of your computer screen’s empty composition space, you become like a brain-dead jackrabbit staring headlong into the lights of an oncoming vehicle, too bewitched by the sublime brightness to remember to tell yourself to move. In the end, getting hit by a truck is no fun for the jackrabbit, either.

As time flits by, hopefully those instances will become fewer and farther between as I continue to stick with this wonderfully unavailing blog about diddly-squat. I also hope the squat herein can become as entertaining as possible, both to me and to anyone who reads it.


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