Snobbin: Beautiful Trash in the Pop Culture Gutter

I keep working on so many writing projects that mostly will never see fruition, spreading myself so thin in order to avoid imposter syndrome and the inevitable focus on what I see as failures. My whole life has been one long struggle to communicate coupled with an obsessive need to document my struggle through different writing forms and ideas. Lately, I have been contemplating the book while finishing up a few articles.  I am writing this post to keep myself honest and focused. My ultimate goal is to put together the proposal and the introduction before the end of summer. I want to conclude the two projects I am working on, but I have to wait for the inevitable comments. I published one book chapter this year, but another was canceled. I am waiting for additional feedback on two journal articles. I was hoping I could meet my other writing goals by summer, so I can focus most of my time on researching the book and beginning to finally draft it.  Today I am dealing with carpal ...

I'm hoping to start writing regularly again, particularly beginning work on my first nonfiction book. It's been a long time coming. I've written numerous chapters/articles, blog posts, poems, a few failed book proposals, and other miscellanea but have never finished a longer work, unless you count the dissertation. Of course, numerous health challenges in the last few years have dampened this dream. My hands feel better after using wrist braces for my carpal tunnel, but I cannot type like I once did. They still hurt and are shaky. I've been having brain fog and a stuffy headache from the forest fire smoke. I feel like I'm moving in slow motion. I'm posting this for support and motivation to get back to it. I want to find the strength and energy to keep going. I miss writing the way I used to since it has been part of me for as long as I can remember. However, I made it into work for so long that I'm trying to find the fun again, along with the ability to phy...

I'm trying to write longer, languorous lines, you know, as I have not been writing like I should. These lines might form a rib, a bit, an attempt at honest expression, or an artistic endeavor to keep me from my dotage. To shake off the brain fog, post-Covid before I fix my shaky, sore carpal tunnel hands and get back to work. I wake up numb in brain, fingertips straining and hurting, finding it hard to talk, momentary, mental lapses, and an inability to move, work, or think. The cabin helps as the bright sun shakes off the long upper Midwest winter, which felt like it lasted eight months this year. The mosquitoes materialize from seemingly nothing to work like tiny Draculas on all available creatures. A bald eagle screeches in its deceptively tiny bird voice, and the chipmunks chase each other with much commentary. A toad hops through the gray dirt of the campfire pit in search of a cool escape from the torturous sun's red rays. I defog as I watch every other creature move thro...