“I’m much more a gardener than an architect,” concluded George RR Martin in an interview with the Guardian in 2011. What did he mean? He explained that there are two types of writers,

the architects and the gardeners. The architects plan everything ahead of time, like an architect building a house. They know how many rooms are going to be in the house, what kind of roof they’re going to have, where the wires are going to run, what kind of plumbing there’s going to be. They have the whole thing designed and blueprinted out before they even nail the first board up. The gardeners dig a hole, drop in a seed and water it. They kind of know what seed it is, they know if planted a fantasy seed or mystery seed or whatever. But as the plant comes up and they water it, they don’t know how many branches it’s going to have, they find out as it grows.

I’m definitely a gardener, but I’ve always wished I was an architect.

In school, I always struggled with writing essays because I was usually required to write an outline first, and I hated writing outlines. I didn’t know what I wanted to say; how am I supposed to write an outline for an argument I don’t have yet? I needed to write to know what I thought—to drop the seed in the hole and water it and see what grew from it. But I never allowed myself to explore this side of writing because I had deadlines to meet, and because I was an immature student, I always left all my assignments until the absolute last minute.

In this, I haven’t changed much.

It’s almost 8pm as I’m writing this. I mostly had an idea of what I wanted to write, but instead of spending time throughout the day writing, I procrastinated and only started writing a few hours before I usually go to bed. Sure, deadlines are one of the great motivators in life, but I’m not a young and naive teenager anymore—I don’t have the strength or the time to procrastinate. Nor do I want to anymore.

All my novels have languished for two reasons: I could never meet my own deadlines, and I spent too much time watering the soil instead of figuring out how many rooms the house is going to have. You don’t want to know how many times I’ve rewritten the same story because of the new “seed” I found and I just absolutely had to see what grew from it. Even this post has grown into something I didn’t quite plan or foresee. I had this John Ruskin quote I wanted to fit into this, but I think I’ll have to save it for another day.

I want to be an architect, even a bad architect, as Warren Ellis wrote back in June. “I’m bad at plans,” he wrote. “I try, but I always end up winging it.” And here, I can find both solace and a valuable lesson: as long as I’m out in the field scoring the soil with my trowel and planting the seeds and watering them, I’ll be okay. But an unplanted seed won’t grow, and an unwritten story will never be told.

Whether I plant seeds joyfully and see what grows from them or whether I pull out my drafting pencil and straight edge and get to drafting my house, as long as I’m writing, I’ll be fine.

This may be hard to believe, but I am not perfect.

I make mistakes. Like, all the time. One of the reasons why I’m still single in my 30s is because of the many mistakes I’ve made.

After I published yesterday’s post, I went to bed feeling like something was off. Was it the clunkiness in my writing? Yes, but that wasn’t it. My writing is always clunky. Was it how rushed I felt while writing it? Yes, but I always feel like that when working under a deadline. Was it my borderline inappropriate title? Yes, but it wasn’t quite that either.

It was all the above.

Another one of my many “rules” over the years has been to never update or revise anything I’ve published, except for the odd typo or to add a word I’ve needlessly omitted. I’ve never written this “rule” in some style guide or anything, but it was something I did and followed. Once my post is published, I felt like I was done with it, and it was time to move forward.

One of my goals with this project is to refine my craft and revamp my mindset, and part of that means clarifying these unwritten “rules” I hold in my head, to challenge and question them. And this is one of those “rules” I’m challenging.

I remember reading that Robin Sloan edited his posts all the time, and that has provided some comfort. Robin writes:

I remember when I blogged on Snarkmarket, years ago, I would change my posts ALL THE TIME. Not just typo fixes but make pretty substantial tweaks—clumsy language detected with the benefit of an hour’s reflection. Like oil paint; you can move it around for a long time. I loved it.

That quote comes from a post on the great Austin Kleon’s blog, a post where he writes that “blog posts can be edited, added to, improved upon.” Why is that important? Because “I want to be able to be wrong. I want to change my mind! I want to evolve.”

I want to evolve.

To evolve is to admit you’re not perfect, that you are capable of improvement, that your journey is ongoing and never-ending. To evolve is to live, and all I want is to live, mistakes and all.

Earlier today, I re-read yesterday’s post, and I spent some time revising some of it. I changed the title, I polished some of the clunkiness, and I clarified a few thoughts. I would normally be petrified of doing this, but part of my evolution is to do the scary things and hope my readers understand.

Like Austin writes, “to do the exploration that growth and change requires, one needs a forgiving medium… but what one really needs is forgiving readers.”

I will add that I also need to forgive myself for the many mistakes I’ve made and will make. After all, a life without mistakes is a life not lived at all, and again, all I want is to live.

One of the things I don’t feel comfortable with yet is writing about topics like I’m some sort of authority on it. I don’t feel like I’m much of an authority outside of my own life. I feel confident writing about my own feelings because their mine, and I write to explore them, to understand them. I like referring to these pieces as essays in the way that Michel de Montaigne used the word, as attempts to understand my thoughts and feelings.

These essays are mostly contained in my Journal. If you’ve read them, you’ll have seen how personal I can get with them. They’re personal because I don’t know how else to write. How can you try to understand your emotions without getting personal? Since I started blogging again in 2020, I’ve included one of my photos in each essay as a supplement to my writing, and even here, these photos are also attempts, attempts to explore my photography, to discover ways to improve this craft. These “rules” I’ve set for myself have helped me focus these essays, but they have also stopped me from writing more. Each essay must have a photo, I tell myself, and if they don’t, then I won’t write them and I won’t publish them. It feels silly writing that out like this, but it’s true.

My Notes, on the other hand, were supposed to be more free. They were supposed to be my playground, a place to try new things, to amuse myself with silly notes or one-off photos. But… I don’t know. I guess I grew scared that I might offend someone or post too much to annoy my audience. I wanted to be safe, and that desire to be safe meant I restrained myself from playing around like I wanted to. As I’m writing this, I feel sad about that. Like I wrote yesterday, this is my home. My home means my rules. I have every right to amuse myself, so that’s what I’m going to try and do.

During this attempt at blogging every day in November, I’m giving myself permission to try new things and to explore different areas of my craft. I want to have fun doing this, and by having fun, I hope to discover something new about myself. Because if you’re not having fun, then what’s the point?

And by here, I mean my website. By here, I mean my RSS feed in your RSS reader app. By here, I do not mean Twitter or Facebook or Instagram or any other social media company whose purpose is to suck up your content greedily to feed their money making machine without regard to you or your well-being.

It starts here.

My words in my home under my name. I own this—I own all of it—and you should, too. Your words in your home under your name. This is what the internet is, and what the internet should always be, a place by people and for people. No algorithms telling you what you should pay attention to, no corporations shoving their half-baked ideas in your face and telling you to like it, but a place where a shy, weird, nerdy guy can write without restraint and share photos of leaves or whatever.

Recently, Manuel Matuzovic, a very well-respected web developer was banned from Twitter for reasons unknown. In a post on his blog, he describes some of the things he’s lost since his ban. He doesn’t have access to his direct messages anymore, images, or bookmarks, and he even lost access to some sites that used Twitter as the login method. One day, everything was normal and the next, all the years of content he produced on someone else’s website was locked away from him, possibly forever.

Isn’t it somewhat ridiculous that these companies exist because of the content their users produce, content millions of people produce for free, and yet these users own none of it? That they can lose all of it by the whims of someone like Elon Musk? Or Mark Zuckerberg? What kind of living hell is this?

Toward the end of his post, Manuel writes:

If there’s something I’ve learned from this whole thing, it’s that I must be more careful with how and where I share my content. A social media platform should not be the primary source. […] Create everything on my own website and syndicate elsewhere, because you never know what might happen to your content or profile tomorrow.

“Now is a good time to reclaim control over your content,” he concludes.

I agree.

And it starts here.

Have you heard of National Novel Writing Month? Apparently, there’s a National Blog Posting Month, too.

After giving it very little thought, I’m going to participate in NaNo—no, NaBloMo—wait, NaBloPoMo—there we go. At least, I’m going to try.

From Amy:

Having taken part in NaBloPoMo last year (See a summary of 2021’s effort), I found out the hard way how important it is to get ahead with ideas and drafts, rather than leaving it until the day of each post to write it.

Have I learned from my mistakes and organised myself better this year? No. But here we are.

I’ve done daily challenges before, and I’ve enjoyed them well enough, so why not challenge myself with something new? I’ve been collecting dozens upon dozens of ideas and half-written blog posts over the past year or so, and I’m tired of them collecting dust. I want to explore them and work on them and draft them and publish them and see what happens.

I’m hesitant because oh my god who has time for this? But that’s the thing, isn’t it? We choose what we pay attention to, and by making this choice or that choice, we are choosing how we want to live our lives. I choose to write. That’s how I want to live my life.

So, let’s write.

For a full month.

What could go wrong?

I guess we’ll have something nice to look at while the world burns around us:

Climate change will increase opportunities to see rainbows, according to a new study led by researchers at the University of Hawai’i (UH) at Mānoa. The study’s authors estimate that by 2100, the average land location on Earth will experience about 5% more days with rainbows than at the beginning of the 21st century.

That’s about 18 more days than normal, which I guess is something. Silver lining and all, considering.

To celebrate their 40th Anniversary, Library of America has reduced the prices for 40 of their boxed sets by 40% or more. I shouldn’t have, but I bought the complete novels by Kurt Vonnegut. Who doesn’t love Kurt Vonnegut?

My wallet, probably.

A Day in the Life. Donating blood at around 1pm in western Montana.

A beautiful morning.