According to my the home-page here, it was 84 days since I published my "maybe-this-will-get-me-to-write-more"-post, and I think that makes the answer to that question NO.
Last night, while my sick toddler wanted to stay up all night, I followed along with the olivia nuzzi/ryan lizza-frenzy that was lighting up bsky. First off, it tickled my dopamine-receptors in a way only the nowadays very rare campfire-moment, when it feels like everybody is talking about the same thing, cracking jokes and hurling hot takes every which way. But more importantly, it left me with a real weird feeling, I really wanted to write.
While it feels kinda mean to lay out, I think it was the extremely wordy, and honestly bad, prose from both parties that triggered the feeling. If this is what passes for prestige writing nowadays (or maybe if this is what supposedly talented writers can to without an editor), why the hell should I feel self-conscious?
So, let's reset - and try again.
As a sign-off, enjoy some of my favorite post from yesterday:
the concept of needing an intimacy coordinator around at all times to profile 70-year-old presidential candidates
well everyone I feel we have all learned today how important editors are. I will not be explaining this further
The last place team in your fantasy league should have to read Olivia Nuzzi's book
writers! you can just have a garden, you don’t have to have a metaphor
Some of your posts about the bamboo metaphor are more overworked than the actual bamboo metaphor :(
my beloved girlfriend has an inexplicable attraction to grotesque, almost supernaturally weird old men. guys who look like the adults from a roald dahl story. fellas who act like they were perhaps recently animals turned human through some unnatural bargain with the fey. not me though