Reading back over my blog post a year ago is hilarious. Out of the ‘one post per month’ goal, I did two. Both of those followed from work I had to complete as part of my Masters. Questions arise. What is the point in continuing to pay for this resource if I am not going to use it? I certainly didn’t start this blog in some sort of vain attempt to go viral. It was always about self-enjoyment. So, why stop?

I always found an excuse not to write. I was busy. I had my PhD application. I was seeing friends. I was hungover. I didn’t feel like it. That is, however, not to say that I wasn’t doing any work. Last year was certainly busy, but I firmly believe that you find time for things that matter. This is something which has become more apparent to me as relationships change and my age group quite literally ‘moves out’ into the so-called real world. Essays, applications, exercise and hobbies (fancy way of saying ‘the pub’) took up most of my time. I rarely felt that same sense of fulfilment that creating something and working on it to completion provides. Of course, completing my Masters was the ultimate goal. Looking back though, I recon I could have done it slightly differently.

Currently in my drafts, I have various half-finished projects. Some of these are further along than others. To list a few, there’s: 4 book reviews, 2 literature summaries, a discussion of House M.D., 5 posts about music in various forms, 1 discussion of the distant intimacy of Stephen Fry’s narration of the Harry Potter Books, and various comments on ‘popular cultures’ response(s) to the UK and US elections. In paper notes and on Obsidian, there are literally hundreds more paper proposals, musings, notes and creative tasks across 26 GB of files and 5 notebooks. This may lead you to think: What’s the issue then? Who cares if you post them or not?

You’ve missed the point. Whilst those half-cooked ideas might be great, they’re exactly that. Half-cooked. They offer nothing to anyone else and will forever occupy either the pixels or parchment they reside in until I ultimately forget about them. Whilst in many ways this practice offers something to me in terms of process, the fact that there is no end result troubles me.

One of the reasons I couldn’t be bothered to write anything new was the way that I have previously written on this site. Referenced, academic-style outputs. At least I like to think. Everything was very formal. I’m not sure why, I think I was trying to be too clever. I realised that there was a lot of issues with my style. It was overengineered, evocative of a newly postgraduate student trying to show off. I don’t mind saying this, I think it is probably true. Everyone goes through this – or so I’m told.

Similarly, I would sit there and read Sam’s archive of blog posts on Spatial Machinations and Clive’s incredible pieces on Pop Theory [unfortunately, I recently found out that Pop Theory is now defunct, with the URL reclaimed by GoDaddy]. Despite often being quick notes, desperate thoughts and – sometimes – rushed pieces of writing, they always seemed so perfect. I’m not talking about autocorrect and decent grammar; the posts all seem to have a certain natural flow which was all-but unachievable for me. This is further compounded by the crushing sense of inferiority when comparing my strictly-academic writing to that which I see in published journals.

Deirdre McCloskey negotiates this topic specifically in her timeless book ‘Economical Writing’. She states as follows:

“Amateur writers suppose that writing is a character trait instead of a skill. If someone says that it’s clumsy to use ‘not only…but also” or that it’s phony to use ‘prioritize’ they are liable to react the way that they react to remarks about their body shape. Hey, that’s who I am; lay off, you louse. The professionals, by contrast, such as poets and journalists and the best writers of economics, have learned to take advantage of criticism.

The first and the biggest truth about wrist is that we all – you, I, and Dave Barry – can use more criticism. We would be a lot more professional if we took more of it”

Here, we return to the point. Without some form of publication (taken in its broadest sense), how can I receive more criticism? Getting things out there is my main goal at the moment. By doing so, I open myself up to both more criticism and praise; two tools which are both indispensable and illusive in an early postgraduate career. Taking this step is not necessarily easy. Criticism can come at unwanted times, often leading to misunderstandings and miscommunications. Similarly, the fragility of praise can prioritise focus on negatives and weaknesses rather than a holistic and representative picture.

Then again, we must remember the purpose of this website. It is my blog. Not anyone else’s. If they don’t like the writing, they can stop reading and – politely – fuck off. For those around me who do engage with my writing selflessly in their free time, thank you for sticking around and I always welcome your thoughts. Turning back to process, the idea of writing and using this medium of communication is certainly representative of a bigger issue. Completion. Whilst it is easy to blame postmodern media networks and TikTok’s ‘for you’ page for a decline in my own attention span, introspection reveals a deeper issue. Slowing down and finding that sense of achievement in consistency and ultimately completing the task fully is something which I certainly need at the moment.

So there we go. Adieu. I’ll try come back more often, I’ve clearly got a lot to say. As with most of the stuff on this website, this has certainly been an exercise in self-gratification. This has allowed me to get my thoughts out there during what is quite a fluid time of my life. Part of my life recently has been reading on how to be a PhD student; something which I never thought I would have to do. I’d certainly like to thank Ian Cook for his paper ‘”You want to be careful you don’t end up like Ian. He’s all over the place”: autobiography in/of an expanded field’, a cleverly written and characteristically edgy piece of work which certainly makes me feel at home within the academic community. In the end, even Judith Butler won Philosophy and Literature’s ‘Worlds Worst Writing Prize‘ in 1998. We all must go through it.