Facing Forward, or, Hope is Also a Four-Letter Word.

In which I take my usual almost trademark pessimism and attempt to inject a little of that other stuff, you know, what's it called again? Ah, yes, that's it; optimism.

I'm sitting here alone as I write this, it's just gone 7am and it's peaceful. The sun is at the front window, giving the impression of warmth outside, even though it's probably still a little too soon for that level of truth to be reflected in appearance. I'm usually an early riser, the earliest in the Glenwright household more often than not. It gives me time to be alone with only my thoughts for company, not that it's always a good thing. The insides of my head don't always make for the best companions.

It's been a few weeks since I've posted anything here. I'm okay with that; I've made no secret of the fact that I'm not exactly a prolific blogger, and it's certainly not to my usual level of months between ramblings. So: what's being going on? As it turns out, not really that much to write about but, hell, I'll do it anyway. This is my space, you know how to scroll, right?

First things first, I'm still working on reducing my dependency on social media. That's something that isn't easy for a writer, especially an independent author. We rely pretty heavily on social platforms as a means of networking, self-promotion, all of that funky stuff that comes with the territory. But there's wilfully whoring yourself out, and then there's the very real likelihood of spreading yourself too thinly. At some point, you have to take stock and evaluate the value that you're getting, the return on your investment if you like. With Facebook in particular, I've been confronted with the reality of late, that return is pretty fucking low. So yeah, I figured a sabbatical, an extended hiatus was definitely overdue. Let's be honest: Facebook is a cesspit. It's always been a cesspit, but in the past, I could at least argue that it was sort of okay, that the danger spots were easy to avoid. Lately however, that hasn't been the case so much, I'm guessing mainly down to everyone's least favourite Lovecraft hybrid Zuckerberg imposing his idea of being a manly man on the place. It feels like the toxicity just keeps amping up to cancerous, brain-rotting levels. One one hand, it offers little other than rampant right wing propaganda, spewed out and dressed up as facts that the gullible masses are all too quick to believe. On the other, it breeds equally rampant, radical far-leftist shit, propagated by rabid, self-proclaimed arbiters of taste, who believe that everyone needs saving from themselves, and that no one is an adult capable of making their own decisions. Both sides are equally mouth-frothing, both are equally annoying, and I'm sick of both. It isn't an easy decision. Like I said, for a long time, Facebook has been a means for me to maintain contact with people who, without it, I'd lose touch. Damnit, it's something I grew up with from the beginning. But I didn't sign up for this, what seems more and more like a hotbed for toxicity, hatred, and falsehood disguised as fact. It wears me out. Like that wise man Danny Glover once said: "I'm too old for this shit."

Perhaps it's telling that, since I made it known that I was stepping away from the platform for a bit (not permanently, I still use it to maintain contact with some distant real-life friends), I've had a couple of people actually ask if everything's okay. As though, because I'm not actively using the platform, then there must be something wrong with me. That's a misplaced concern, there's probably less wrong with me than there has been in a long while.

All of which meandering brings me to a point of sorts: Grab onto life while you can. It's short, you only get one, it's yours and no one else's, and you have to live it. By which I mean, you really have to live it. I haven't been able to focus on writing as much as I would maybe have liked to this last couple of weeks. The usual combination of real world invasive stuff; things to do around the house, that sort of thing. But in addition, we managed to get away for a few days, to spend some time elsewhere, in good company. It felt good to unwind a little bit, to be able to forget everything for a short while and just go with the flow. Hell, I even got to visit a genuine rock bar for the first time in ages. One of those (nowadays seemingly too rare) rock and metal nights. For a short while, the years rolled away and I was able to relive my late teens/early twenties (fuck off, of course I can still remember them!). It's just a small thing, and it wasn't the most important by any stretch - we'd actually gone to visit my adult son, who's nearing the end of his university course - but it was still something memorable, an opportunity for me to give him a glimpse of my earlier years first hand.  Sometimes, it's good to reconnect with your younger, more carefree (or careless) self. It does a body good to cling onto that youth, to interrupt your grown-up self for a little while and remind yourself; sometimes, adulthood isn't all it's cracked up to be. Certainly for a writer, it's good to keep the dreamer inside you alive, or at least resuscitated after years of stultification by the likes of social media. Sometimes you've got to say 'fuck it,' grab onto life and jump into it head first. You're the one who matters. ​

You owe it to yourself.

What I've been reading: Negative Space (B R Yeager).

What I've been watching: All Of Us Are Dead (my youngest daughter is currently on a Korean horror kick and I'm digging it).

What I've been listening to: Napalm Death - Time Waits for no Slave, QOTSA - S/T, Red Fang - Murder the Mountains.

Until next time, thanks for tagging along. Channelling my inner Ringo, peace and love,

​- L