Funemia

When I first decided to make a separate URL to serve as my serious platform for serious writing, I did so to put some daylight between my identity and online presence as a legitimate writer and that of my other, more well-known contribution to the internet. Shortly after I took the site live, one of my friends perused what I had posted thus far and advised that it wasn’t very funny and consequently “didn’t sound like” me.

And she’s not wrong. The scant content I’ve bothered to post so far is all rather dry, which would seem to stand at odds with the fathomless reservoir of snark I bring to bear in other mediums. And it’s not like I don’t try to be funny, I try to be funny all the time. I just can’t seem to marshal my forces when it comes to my Very Serious Platform, and I frankly don’t know why. In attempting to divorce myself from the juvenile mockery of my other work and establish a respectable name apart from it, I seem to have inadvertently exorcised all the humor in the process. My schisming of Mr. Hyde from Dr. Jekyll has left me with bloviating prose where I don’t have a lot to say, but still feel obligated to inflate the word count to make it worthy of a blog post. Consequently, my Very Serious Platform has turned out to be a dour affair.

As the saying goes, dying is easy, comedy is hard. Even managing “slightly amusing” on demand seems a stiff challenge. That’s been a large part of the reason why I haven’t been keen on blogging regularly, I look at the ideas I have for things I’d write about, and they’re depressing as fuck. The inevitable outcome of having an outlet to channel my thoughts is to acknowledge the fact that my thoughts tend to be depressing as fuck. In retrospect, this should have been predictable; I live in my head, I ought to know my own penchant for being depressed as fuck. I don’t want my vehicle that’s supposed to be about writing to just be another journal of a neurotic internet depressive detailing the unbearable hardships of calling someone on the phone. So instead I’ve written almost nothing at all.

I find that, in and of itself, depressing as fuck.

I’m going to attempt to make some sort of resolution here and see if I can’t break the cycle. We’ll see how successful it is, because my free time comes at an extraordinarily high premium these days, and I’ve already been lax about things like submissions for the past several months. And my novels? Haven’t even begun some much needed revisions, and I’ve no estimate of when I’m going to start doing that, either.

What’s one more unfunded commitment to make? I’m sure the time will come from somewhere, right?

Right.

–Mike

P.S.: I do have something on tap for my next post, and it really is depressing as fuck. Just let me get it out of my system, okay?