As a blogger, you read blogs. A lot of blogs. You subscribe to ‘em, you navigate to ‘em, you get sent to ‘em…but no matter how you get there, you read ‘em. Now, that’s no bad thing — there are a lot of good writers out there, and a lot of unique and interesting viewpoints.
There is, to be honest, a lot of great stuff out there that’s well worth reading.
But there are, also, only so many hours in the day. And there’s even fewer hours if you want to, you know, make a living, too…
Since I subscribe to a whole bunch of blogs, however, I get a whole bunch of e-mail updates when new posts go up. Which…umm…more than “occasionally” leads to pretty significant blog-envy. While I struggle to put together three posts a week, all I have to do is check my email to see folks who do as many posts in a day as I can (just) manage in a week.
I do want to say that I respect the hell out of the dedication and effort it takes for folks to post with that kind of regular frequency. I respect it almost as much as I dread the headache that inevitably comes when I think about considering trying to evaluate the possibility of posting more frequently!
And that’s when the blog-envy sets in…
It could be worse, I tell myself…I could still be writing listicles for cheesy websites or — to come up with the only writing job I can think of worse than that — I could dive into writing scripts for porn movies.
So, hey, let’s give that one a try!
Oh, yeah, baby! Just like that!
Ahem…never mind. I think I’ll pass, thanks…
If you haven’t guessed by now, I’m kinda struggling for a topic today. I’ve talked about DockRat enough lately, and my other “big” fiction project isn’t even ready enough to begin my normal prep and planning work.
Shit, maybe I should just go back to my old fallback of posting snippets when I’m struggling to come up with a post…
Connor pressed himself as deeply into the corner as he could. The shadows around him, the bottle in his hand, the worries and fears that he wouldn’t live to see the sun come up again…it was like being back Dockside. He could all but hear Oz asking him just how fucked up did he plant to get?
“What the hell are you doing out here, Connor?” a voice asked.
He knew that voice. He knew it, but it didn’t fit. Not with Dockside, not with the memories.
He looked up, met Matt’s eyes. Innocent, earnest Matt. Poor foolish, naive Matt. The one who still believed in…anything.
A move of his hand and he offered the half-empty bottle. “Sit down and have a drink. I could use the company.”
Hesitation as Matt looked at the cold, wet ground before sinking down with a small shrug. He took the bottle and sipped cautiously. “Holy…what the hell are you drinking? This could strip paint from the walls.”
Connor laughed, then, with more than a hint of pain and bitterness. “Good ol’ fashioned homemade shochu. Makes me feel young again. Y’all don’t get this kuso around here, so you don’t know what you’re missing.” Connor knew he should be careful about his speech, about letting Dockside slip back onto his tongue, but he just couldn’t muster the energy. Or the care.
The bottle came back to him and he took a long, long drink.
It really was kuso, but he needed the particular burn that only cheap, harsh liquor could provide. The burn of memory. The burn of forgetting…for a time.
“It’s, what, ten degrees out here? Are you insane? Why the hell are you sitting in the darkest, coldest corner in this whole city?” Matt asked, his voice full of care…and of all the emotions and tells that Connor could so easily manipulate.
No. Not this time.
Matt wasn’t a kamo, wasn’t someone to read and scam. He was a friend. That was all, just a friend.
Connor hadn’t realized just how much he had needed a simple friend until he met Matt. Hopefully he wouldn’t kill this one.
Stop it, Connor, Oz snapped. You didn’t kill me. You did what you had to, and the price was paid. That’s how it works. Shit, I thought I taught you better than this.
The silence said Matt expected some kind of answer, so Connor obliged. He could laugh, and did, but he couldn’t stop the bitterness, not tonight. “It’s an old habit. If you’re in the corner, you only have to watch in front of you. Safest place to be. Of course, that means it’s also the place everyone wants. I’ve seen kids knifed for their little spots in the corner.”
A look over and he could read the shock and dismay on Matt’s face, even in the dark.
Fuck it, Connor decided. In booze lay honesty, they said…or something like that.
Another pull at the bottle. “I saw my first murder when I was eight. But that wasn’t the worst. Not by a long shot. Shit, I watched some poor fucking makeinu get his tongue cut out, but not even that was the worst.”
“What… Who… Connor, what’s going on?” Matt stuttered, his voice stricken.
“I watched the only person in the universe who mattered die, did I ever tell you that? My dad, my friends…none of them could hold a candle to Oz. This…this carnival you call civilization, it’s just a sideshow. I know the truth behind it all. I know the pain, and the blood, it’s built on. My pain, and my brother’s blood.”
“What the…” Matt struggled, completely staggered, completely at a loss. He very obviously did not know what to make of Connor’s little speech, so he focused instead on the smallest of details. “Brother? I thought you said you were an only child…?”
Connor thought about that for a moment. “Some families you’re born into, but some you choose. Oz meant more — means more — to me than any random aho who just happens to share my genes.”