My goodness. I think I forgot a good two weeks ago or so that this is twelve years of “blogging” every day. It’s not really blogging is it? Not in the strict sense. Blogging is usually more…organized. Purposed. More like articles, I feel like, albeit informal ones. This is much more of a journal or diary. Not necessarily confessional—though that does happen here sometimes—but certainly personal. A blog, to me, is about offering something of value to the reader, very intentionally. I don’t know if this does that, at least directly. I surmise the value or entertainment here is far more of the voyeuristic nature. ‘What is old Ira up to?’ It’s not a question many people ask, I think, and certainly not on a daily basis, lol. So…the value is mostly to me. I obviously get quite a bit from it. Twelve years is a testament to that. So…here’s to twelve years, and here’s to twelve more (at least!).
It was a good day today. I got all of my writing sessions in, a little reading, a quick nap…everything I wanted to and could have, I think. We ended the evening watching Grand Designs, as we are wont to do around this time of year.
I was telling Liz earlier today a little bit about the current non-fiction book that I’m reading: it’s Michael Piller’s Fade In, which is about his journey writing one of the Star Trek feature films. What I was telling Liz is that there’s an aspect to it that I wasn’t quite expecting, or at least I hadn’t thought about until really getting into it: it’s essentially the tale of a car crash. We know it ends in disaster. Or, well, not exactly disaster because the movie gets made, and though it failed at the box office and in the hearts and minds of almost everyone who saw it, including the guy writing this blog entry…there was another Trek film made after it. It didn’t even “kill” the franchise. But it wasn’t a good movie. Not even in the eyes if Michael Piller, which is why he wrote the book, I think. And ostensibly the book is written to fellow writers…but there is a…sadness to reading it. Not only because Michael died from cancer not all that long after writing it, but because it is, at the end of the day, a book about failure. It can be heavy at times to read, which I just hadn’t considered. I am enjoying it, though. Certainly. I’ve already learned some things from him, and found myself saying “yes—same!” several times as he’s explaining his process or his point of view on storytelling.
I’ll keep y’all updated how the rest of it plays out.
Off to go read some more of it. Night night.