A Little About Writing Here

It’s been nearly two decades since I started this journal. Two more years. Nineteen ninety-eight, at the latest. Thinking about it just now, I wonder – because I know it has – how much publicly publishing this journal for all these years has changed my life.

It took a while after thinking of “inadequate.net” as my URL to finally secure it with Dreamhost. At the time, while half-drunk and pissing in the urinal at Lovejoy’s, I’d envision a sticker with the URL and nothing else pasted to the wall in front of me. I thought of all the people who would visit the site because they’d seen it. Then I would remember that, in their drunken state, it was even more unlikely they’d forget it than usual.

I never did do that.

At some point after starting inadequate.net, likely in college, I started sharing it with girls in whom I was interested. I guess I thought my earlier writing expressed me better than I could in a contemporary conversation – or even many conversations.[1] I heard from more than one girl that they didn’t want to end up in my journal. They loved it, but wouldn’t date me at the risk of appearing in my writing. I’ve had more than one wife tell me that she wanted to be written about the way earlier girls were written about right until the moment they’re written about. Then they don’t want it.

I’ve been asked many times, “Why inadequate?” I think the answer is obvious. Apparently, it isn’t. Have you read my writing?

Mike Jasper came up with what I sort of think of as the subtitle: “an examination of free will.” I think that’s appropriate beyond it just including a nickname. If I’ve explored anything here – or, at least, displayed – it has to be my own choices. Those ahead of me, those being made and the consequences of those previously made.

Sorta like this journal. It was a decision to write and to publish it. The consequences of which I’ve yet to fully explore but, as I said at the beginning, have undoubtedly affected my life. It will likely to continue to affect my life.[2]

When I talk to old friends I haven’t spoken to in a long time, they invariably ask, “Are you still writing?” Someone – at least – once said they had just assumed I’d have a book out by now. Ha! Even my friends who are great writers – far greater than I am – don’t have books out yet. One person from way back in the “second-wave” of online journalers, Maria Diaz, posted on my Facebook wall long ago that she was surprised inadequate.net was still alive.

I thought moving would free my mind or somehow else bring the years I wrote about at inadequate back into focus so that I might write something longer about the Ruta Maya years, if you will, given so many of the events chronicled there occurred there. Instead, I’ve only bitched more. (I’m reminded of Zaelit telling me in the Air Force that I was the oldest 18-year old 30-year old he’d ever met.)

I’ve never been a good storyteller, as I’ve written before. Even when I was relating events years ago, I never thought the “stories” were accurate enough or communicated, and communicated well, enough. John says all writers are liars. He’s right. I can’t get it all in – can’t.

Who would want it all in? Fuck Bret Easton Ellis. Fuck Jonathan Franzen. Shit. Fuck Thoreau even.change-the-world-coffee-gloria-whelan

And fuck all the (for now) white guys who’ve written – and continue to write – long-ass, supposedly groundbreaking novels that play with the text with blank pages and footnotes[3] along the right side of the page. You tried getting it all in, and you failed. Too enamored with your own supposed brilliant prose abilities, you didn’t get a quarter of it. Being self-referential can be fun, but it isn’t new. Also, you profess to be writers: let designers do their jobs.

Where is this going? Hell if I know. Where does half my writing go?

I’ve no idea how many employers have turned me down because of what’s written here. I’ve always protested the use of the web and social media by employers to spy on potential and current employees. Nonetheless, it happens. I’ve certainly been asked stupid questions about what little is public on my Facebook page (by a stupid, fat millennial at an interview with the Texas Retired Teachers Association, wherein I was asked for strategies to monetize materials sent to their members).

A college professor used inadequate as an example for class long ago. You know, back when you had to tell kids what a blog was/is.

What decisions have I changed because I wrote about them here? Either due to feedback or just working it out in writing or by some other means.

Have others made different decisions? Thought of themselves differently after an entry posted here? Felt something?

Which is more important: my writing affecting me or affecting a reader?

There is no answer to the question
We are in mutual possession
This is the circle that we live in
These are the people that we’ve been

When I think back to the Ruta Maya years and Brian(na), John, all the various Ruta Maya staff as they came and went, Mike, Sarah, Sara, Matthew, Trey (the bum) and his dog Arielle (that’s AIRY ELLE, as he’d always emphasize) and so many others, many of whom I can’t remember their names, this quote comes to mind. I liked it so much that I made what is popularly called a “meme” for it (see picture).

There’s still time, right?

[1] Undoubtedly, some of it was avarice – the same reason I started the journal and the thought of stickers for it.

[2] I’m still waiting for my old words to be used against me. “For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned.”

[3] Guilty, for including footnotes here.

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