Try Something New

Bored at work, I click on Mark's new link.

An old couple on their boat, a smart car parked on some cobblestone. A guy with a buzz-cut sucking another guy's cock in a sepia tone.

Window closed.

Back to work.

Test Drives, Radical Honesty and Why I Am Good at Neither

I came across an article.

This article had very little do with test driving vehicles, so I read it as to keep this blog assignment at bay for that much longer.

You see, up until having read this article I had been explaining the test-drive-a-car-you're-not-actually-going-to-buy assignment to others as something of a test of my fiction writing abilities. I had very little time to test drive a car, even less so the intention to actually go through with the test-drive, and I found a warm little spot in assuming that this assignment--this entire blog--was only given as a way to galvanize my writing. So with this gem in mind, that it didn't matter a lick whether or not I actually drove a car, I had decided that I would probably just make up the ordeal, have it be uneventful and over-descriptive and call it a day.

Lucky for me, I found that article about Radical Honesty and stumbled upon something I actually wanted to write about. Now, before you judge me as self-indulgent (however accurate that judgment may be) I suggest you read at least somewhere near to halfway in A.J. Jacob's article, "I Think You're Fat."

As I said, I had the intent of lying about having actually gone to drive a car. I also feel it likely that, laziness such as my own not being uncommon in the student community, very few writers in this class actually went anywhere near a car dealership, let alone spoke with an associate or sat in a vehicle that wasn't their own.

I want to devote this post, maybe even the blog, to the idea of Radical Honesty. In that spirit, I really want to get it off my chest that I couldn’t care much less about blogging. No interest in it whatsoever. I think it is, by nature, self-indulgent and there's very little good that can be eeked out from reading some stranger's private thoughts.

Every Sunday night I am going to rationalize it again: blogging is only 15% percent of this class' grade, so I may a well get some fun out of the space I have. I'd rather be working on my actual project anyways and not having to mull over how I'm going to fulfill next week's requirements for this experiment. Why does journaling always have to be the university's literary lubricant of choice?

I don’t resent being forced to write. I need to be forced at this stage in my life. Being forced to blog, though? Aren’t there some other outlets for professional wannabes?

reid