Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Sometimes as writers we need to reinvent ourselves. Other times we have vicious former classmates to do it for us.

In a comment left on my last post Polly, who I went to school with and who incidentally was voted “Most Likely To Stab You With A Tent Stake While You're Sleeping,” said:

“link, schmink. shut up and write. quit this blogger writer love fest shit and get on with it.”

I've always thought myself as being someone who could handle criticism well, but I confess that at first I was a little taken aback by this comment, as well as mildly surprised that Polly had learned to read and write since high school. But I've been thinking about this since and talking it over with my cat Mimi:

“Mimi, once we get you refooded1 we're going to sit down and have us a man-to-cat talk. I'm quitting this blogger writer love fest shit. No more Mr. Nice Unit. Friends are for pussies -- sorry, baby, didn't mean it, it's just an expression. No more 'let's all give ourselves a big group hug,' although come to think of it it's been a little more one-sided than that.

"Anyway, fuck 'em all – I'm going to shut up and write. Let's give the people what they came for: sex, drugs, rock'n'roll, and the occasional dessert recipe. Um......er......got any ideas what I should write about?”

So I am going to shut up and write. This old dog can turn new tricks. I'm moving the setting on Lucille my laptop from “Stun” to “Kill.” Damn the torpedoes no matter how they're spelled. I'm going for the throat via the rectum and I'm not stopping until I reach the Islets of Langerhans. What's my size in helicopters, everyone? Extra Hellfire Missiles!

Merdre2, I'm worn out already. This fierce blogging shit is hard work.

What I believe Polly was really saying, albeit much more offensively, is “stop writing about personal things that we as your readers really couldn't give a shit about and do your damn job, which is to entertain and amuse us, or at least make us learn new words.” Good point.

The thing is, until now I've never really thought about the fact that I have readers. This blog started out, as I suspect most blogs do, with me just sort of talking to myself and not really daring to believe that anyone else would ever read what I was writing. This worked fine for a long time, since most of my writing was shit and nobody ought to have been reading it anyway. It was good practice, though.

But over time, “Hulles” has evolved into what it is today: the dog's bollocks of sardonic postmodern humor blogs. Apparently I managed to shake that annoying humility trait along the way as well; thank God, it was getting in the way of my superlative writing. The thing is, because this was an evolutionary rather than a revolutionary process and because frankly I'm a little slow about some things, I didn't consciously realize that this change was happening. As a result of this I have really been trying to do two very different things with this blog:

1) write to entertain an audience, and

2) use this blog to personally participate in and interact with an exciting international community of people with far-ranging tastes, brilliant intellects, wry senses of humor, astoundingly brave hearts, and fairly decent bodies, although a few of them could stand to hit the gym a little harder, you know who you are. Oh yeah, and cocktail waitresses with cute asses. [Welcome back, boys.]

So from here on out it's entertainment, people. You want support, buy a jock strap or a jogging bra. Or both, if you have a body like Unca Don's. Too bad I had to end on Blackmoore, though. If it had been Amanda, after endless blogging about her maybe I could have convinced her to have a tawdry affair, although you just know she has a 70-foot-tall floral print house dress in her closet somewhere. Oh well, her loss.

Polly, much as it kills me to say it, thanks for the heads up. I promise I'll try to write for an audience of more than just one or two people from here on out. Congratulations on the new skills, by the way. As for the rest of you, don't tell Polly but I still love you. C'mon, group hug, what do you say?

-- the new Hulles


1Hands up who's used this word since you first saw it here. Two of you, three of you? Excellent. My masters will be pleased.

2No, it's not misspelled, it's a complex literary allusion to “Ubu Roi” by Alfred Jarry, but thanks for trying to correct me. Hey, cool, apparently the “Kill” setting on Lucille really does work!

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

Wow! I don't believe it. A drunken blog comment produced real results!

I wonder if I can parlay this into a real career -- spurring on faltering writers with rude, drunken assessments.... I think I'll work on my logo now.

~polly

Hulles said...

Faltering? Faltering? I'll show you faltering, you little...hey, put down that tent stake, I was just kidding.

Anonymous said...

What heart, what tent stake from (god knows how many) years ago are you referring to? I was not a speck on anyone's radar. I can't believe that YOU remember me!

And if I had time I would expound on the "faltering writer" comment but I don't. Suffice it to say it was not intended as a specific gouge to your ego, just writers in general. And I need a paying career. So there.

~polly

Hulles said...

What do you mean what heart, it's the only organ that still works. And I made up the tent stake thing, it just sort of created itself out of thin air.

You underestimate how advanced radar technology was, even back then.

And I didn't take the faltering thing personally. Well, I did, but it didn't bother me, I was just teasing you. And I also need a paying career.