This week, another person told me I should write a book. This was in light of my blogging and as an idea for something to make money. I wish it were that easy.
The first time someone suggested I write a book was in 2009. It was this fellow named Brian, in rehab. He wanted to be my publisher. He seemed to think I could write a book about my life and recovery from meth addiction. “Too soon?”, I thought. I was right.
Sadly, the only other memory I have of Brian, and this is the one that lingers, is of him covered from head to toe in butter. Literally. Covered. I was working in the kitchen, and following instructions from the resident expert on how to soften butter. I can’t remember exactly what that involved, other than adding something to it and stirring in a large metal container. Unfortunately I was carrying the container from one counter to another in the kitchen, with actual butter fingers, when Brian walked by at the moment it slipped from my hands. He was truly a sight to behold, because when that container hit the floor, the butter exploded upwards right at him, covering him. Had it been possible to aim at him, I don’t think I could have been that accurate. Later he even showed me the butter he’d somehow missed behind his ears, after his shower.
Anyway, I don’t think I can count on
buttercup Brian as my publisher. His idea seemed good at the time, but I don’t really want to write yet another book about recovery, unless I can say something unique from my perspective that I feel is helpful to others. Also, my life is boring. No, really, it’s not that interesting. I spend most of my time at work, writing c# code and solving programming problems that while interesting to me, would bore the shit out of most people. Not everybody gets excited about, for example, writing a generic reusable method that uses serialization and deserialization to relay XML or JSON Http POST requests from one WCF service to another. See? I bored you already, but this stuff is exciting to me.
I write this blog for fun. It’s not about money so there isn’t any pressure. Also, I write it mostly in autopilot these days. Much like when I’m in the zone programming and think about the application, with the actual code and all the classes and objects that seem to write themselves, it usually feels like the blog writes itself. I sit down with an idea and just write. There’s no need to stick to any particular topic because I write whatever happens to be on my mind. Blogging is easy.
It would not be so to write a book. Books need continuity. Ideas must flow from start to finish, growing into chapters that build on one another and complement one another, all while maintaining the interest of the reader. I don’t know about everybody but I hold books to a higher standard than blogs or other articles. If I lose interest on page two, or page ten, or even page two hundred, I put the book down and never pick it up again. I am not confident that I can write well enough for my own standards as a reader, and that’s the bottom line. Maybe I should write about self doubt?
But it would be nice to write a book. Something to cross off my bucket list if I had one and didn’t hate that term. Would my dry and sometimes subtle wit, as from the previous sentence, even work in book form? I certainly wouldn’t be able to pepper my prose with the word ‘fuck’, as is my wont here. A pity.
But what to write about? Recovery? Atheism? What? Fuck knows. All I know is that if I write a book, it has to be something I’m proud of, something I believe in, something that drives me to exclaim to everybody I know and some that I don’t, “This is my book!”. I don’t feel ready yet. Maybe I’ll never be.