constant

1v1 me, procrastination. Fox only, Final Destination, no weapons

I have problems with consistency. For example, one of my New Year’s resolutions was to post at least once per day, but today it somehow completely slipped my mind until bedtime. And I swore that the only way I’d ever be able to finish my next book in a timely manner was to write a full chapter every day of the weekend and at least one page during the week- but I spent this whole last weekend just trying to figure out what in the world I wanted Part 5 to be about.

But I finished four pages today, so that’s nice, I suppose. And I’m writing my daily post now.

So I suppose I’m not completely gone.

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this is why backing things up is important

good night sweet prince
You didn’t announce a single thing, you fish-faced liar.

So Wyffy, the OwnCloud service I used to store all my writing files on, has shut down out of the middle of nowhere. I can’t get in. Everything that I had on there is gone.

Except, for, you know, all of my writing files. Because I kept them backed up on my hard drive!

tree
SIKE

I’ll probably dig up one of my many inactive Nextcloud accounts I have lying all around to replace Wyffy. I mean, there won’t be the nostalgia factor that comes with using something I found out during the great move of late 2016. But as long as it works and the operators don’t randomly shut it down and nuke their entire service, I think I’ll be fine from here on out.

Also, apparently the college I’ll be attending soon gives all their students a Google account with unlimited storage, so I’ll be learning how to use (g)rsync and Veracrypt to abuse that as a backup option too. Even though I hate Google with all my guts…

IT’S TIME TO STOP

I love writing. I love being able to take something straight out of a borderline LSD simulation and turn it into a working story that I can teleport straight into a person’s mind using nothing but arbitrarily decided scrawlings.

I like online friends, too. People I don’t have any obligation to talk to except for a few shared interests. Public forums are cool, too. I can share my work real quick and run away and come back a few hours later to constructive criticism or flat-out praise without much effort on my part.

But unfortunately I can’t do that because of this insidious little piece of feces that’s stained our society called Facebook.

Want to join the Eyes + Words Writer’s Group? Sorry, you gotta use Facebook. Want to join Juansen Dizon‘s New Age Poets Society? Nope, sorry, you gotta use Facebook.

Don’t get me wrong. I love these two writers, and I love the idea of these groups. I love areas for fledgling and struggling authors to get help and network and make new friends. There are people who need help, and there are people who would love to give out help.

But why do I gotta sell my soul to earth’s equivalent of hell in the process? If I wanted to suck a mega-corporation’s dingdong, I’d have picked Blogger instead of WordPress. I don’t want to give up my private data to a corporation whose main job is gathering data for advertisers just to see what other people kinda like me on the other side of the globe are writing.

Facebook is dangerous for me to use because of this little thing called the “real name policy”. I don’t want my birth name or whatever I’ll change my legal name to later to be tied to my pseudonym, but in order to join these communities, where I’d be speaking as Vane Vander… I’d have to, you know, not be Vane Vander.

Which kinda defeats the purpose.

There are alternatives. Our good buddy chum pal friend buddy pal chum bud friend fella bruther amigo pal buddy friend chummy chum chum pal Disroot has a forum option (based on Discourse) where you don’t have to be bound to arbitrary restrictions about how you can identify yourself, and you can post freely without a draconian corporation watching your every move and selling your habits to advertisers. And if libre software isn’t your thing, there’s also the proprietary proboards.com.

If these communities didn’t require me to sell my soul, I’d join them in a heartbeat. Nor do I expect them to move their entire userbase in order to satisfy the needs of one person. But surely there are other people out there who’d join in on the discussion but can’t or aren’t able to use Facebook for one reason or another- maybe they’re estranged from their family. Maybe they’re trying to avoid PRISM or whatever surveillance program the NSA has cooked up now. Maybe they’re a conscientious objector from the fuckery of Zuckery.

So I guess I’ll just stay here.

where the hecc* have I been?

so where the hecc have I been
*Yes, I know it’s spelled “heck”. Go away.

Hey, it’s your friendly neighborhood cringemeister Vane here, back at it again with more Low Quality Content™

So where the hecc* have I been?

You know, that’s a really good question. And the answer is: everywhere. And nowhere. In the depest recesses of the earth, and floating on the oceans’ never-ending waves, and borne on the wind, and everywhere in between.

I’ve been hard at work the past few days revising Me Before You. And guess what: I keep my promises, because it’s New Year’s Day, like I promised, and it’s ready! Or, at least, as ready as it’ll ever be, seeing as I wrote it a little under a year ago.

smash masta
Kubuntu would never treat me like this

It’s a new year! Which means it’s a time where we all get to set resolutions and promptly forget them tomorrow. Fun times, amirite? I don’t even remember what I put my resolutions as last year, which just proves my point.

I’d like to post more this year. More photography, more short stories, more poetry. More me and less me explaining why I’m not here. And hopefully more you, too- I don’t remember the last time I got a comment. It’s kinda lonely around here.

slight delays

I’ll keep this short.

I’m postponing the release of Me Before You to New Year’s Day to give me time to relax and spend time with my family and work on The Duality of Mankind. While I’m eager to close out this chapter of my life and see what’s next in store for me beyond The Phobia Interim, I’ve had an extremely hard time finding the motivation to do much of anything, and I’m sorry.

If it’s any comfort, I am bringing A Shatter Down the Hall out of indefinite hiatus and will be working on heavy rewriting as soon as I’m done with TDOM.

Happy holidays, whatever you celebrate, and we’ll meet again soon.

press rewind

press rewind

No, I’m not dead. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m alive, either. I’ll leave that for you to interpret as you wish.

I haven’t been able to write anything in a week. Writer’s block is hitting me like a sledgehammer, and it doesn’t really help that finals are coming up next week far faster than I can possibly run the mile that I’ll be forced to tomorrow. This is the fourth time this trimester. At which point does it go from “necessary” testing to cruel and unusual punishment?

The stars are falling out of my hands faster than I can catch them. The sand is shooting through the cracks between my fingers. And I certainly don’t have an inkling of what my future is going to look like.

But I’m trudging along. I’m still somewhere in between alive and dead. And that’s what’s supposed to matter in the end, right?

dispatches from nowhere

20171006_070029

The last few weeks have been an absolute mess, and I suppose I owe an explanation.

My basement flooded a week and a half ago. The sky cried itself to sleep and made the sump pump in the lowest level of my house fail, causing unknown structural damage and destroying a great deal of personal possessions. Lots of mementos of my childhood are just gone. All the video game systems in my house either have their power cords destroyed, their controllers either outright broken or out of whack, or don’t have the correct output cords to be compatible with the TV in the first basement, which is where my room is. I’ve essentially become a refugee to whatever emulators I can get running on my computer, which, seeing as Windows has apparently decided to actively work against me whenever I boot into it to play games, really isn’t that fun of an experience.

Except for last Saturday, a birthday party for several members of my family. Getting my rear end handed to me while playing several bootlegs of Wii games that took half of the day to download was pretty… interesting.

The Duality of Mankind, my next book, is now a third of the way done through the first draft. I’ve had to restart writing on it four times- first, two teenagers trawling their way through high school and the death of one of the main character’s family members; second, some sort of pseudo-anarchist utopia with a kid who fell form the sky; a third rewrite I won’t mention that only got half a paragraph before I gave up; and now the fourth attempt, which I’ve almost completely plotted.

And what has become of me?

I’m not quite sure. Halloween has become a balance of trying not to embarrass myself by dressing up as someone I’m not physically fit enough to be and not sucking up to anyone else by being so generic as to be unmockable and unremarkable. I remember almost half a decade ago wandering in my neighborhood with only a glowstick to illuminate my way, trampling among high hills and valleys with my cousins and brothers, a plastic pumpkin bucket swinging from my arm. The neighborhood was friendlier back then. Adults were a lot less terrifying, and checking over every piece of candy was just a stupid rule that could just be circumvented by stuffing your face full of chocolate while in the back of your van on the way home.

But then the family scattered across the state, and we stopped waiting for the sun to leave, and we started waiting for parents to chaperone us instead. And eventually I stopped going out at all, waiting for a friend’s invite that never came.

I’m not so sure that I want to be here anymore, but wanderlust isn’t so useful when you’re not even sure where “here” is.

There are so many responsibilities that I’ve been neglecting, and I know that this is one of them. I’m coming back. I promise.