I was looking through the archives here recently, and came to the unpleasant realization that, um, I suck. See, back in the day, I wrote quite a lot for this blog. I spent a lot of time typing away and saying all kinds of interesting things.
Now? Eh, not so much.
Now I'm lucky if I can remember to do my weekly Mark Trail panel... maybe a review or two every now and again (not that anyone pays attention to those). There used to be substantive discussion and debate, now there's just... faux-funny Photoshop comic book covers. Not the same, I know.
The sad thing is, it's not as if I'm writing any less. I'm actually writing more, just not for this blog. I always want to be able to devote the time to writing long and interesting posts, but I have high standards. I don't just want to write about superheroes all the time just because it's easy - because it is easy. I could do it in my sleep. But it doesn't really reflect where most of my interests are anymore. Writing about things that are of legitimate interest for me are also, unfortunately, very difficult to approach. I learned the hard way when I tackled Louis Riel: it is infinitely easy to slag bad comics, but not quite so easy to talk about what makes good comics. The best critics in the field have trouble approaching good comics, so why should little old me have an easy time of it? Plus, add in the fact that this is not a paying gig, and you can see how my mental energies might get subtly shifted.
I sat down last night with the intention of writing a kick-ass blog post of some sort. And instead I ended up watching seven hours of Alf on DVD.
Oh well. I have no intentions of giving up the blog anytime soon but I am legitimately disappointed in just how... uninspired my contributions to the blogosphere have been of late. Maybe someone should try and piss me off or something? I dunno.
But sort-of tangentially related to this topic, here's an interesting article about people who don't seem to understand just what a book critic is supposed to do.
