OK, so I’ve started a blog. And last time anyone’s checked, it’s not 2003. Call me a late adopter.
This was borne out of frustration with trying to identify myself as a writer and not actually writing anything. Or writing anything that people outside the rarified industry that I currently toil in actually give a shit about.
I’ve told myself this, and heard it a million times: writers write. Whatever they can, whenver they can. I don’t do this. So what does that make me?
As I was thinking about my newly-minted blog the best way I could think to honor it is to offer this celebration of the human spirit.
First the dead-on look into the camera, followed by an arrogant little snik. Whatever’s about to happen, yeah he’s done this before. So stand back, muthafuckas.
Then he blows it, smashes nose-to-balls into the ground while trying to execute a backflip. But he immediately rises to his feet, undeterred. Stumbling and dazed, he’s flipping a nunchaku around, struggling to regain his footing before falling out of frame and crashing into some equipment.
And the miracle of cheap video production has captured AfroNinja’s wonderful attempt at Bad-assedness for All Time.
With my writing, I feel as if I’m somewhere between the snik and the screw up. Before the world that I am confortable with suddenly is in jeopardy. Maybe I’ll land on my feet. Or I’ll make an ass of myself — I just hope I’m too dazed from the crash to even fucking realize it.