In Which I Finally Hit Burnout and Vent My Feelings...

I was debating what to write about: do I discuss Joker, and how its director has been stoking the flames to keep the conversation in circulation? Maybe Martin Scorcese’s criticism of Marvel movies, as well as the response of James Gunn? Perhaps the outrage over HBO’s Sesame Street deal? Or should I tackle C-List comedians complaining that “PC culture is ruining comedy”? I sat on it, and the answer came to me: why not discuss how everything’s affecting me?

The past few weeks have seen intense frustrations, there’s no denying that. But while everything has been aggravating to deal with, I think over-stressing has taken a toll on my well-being. I wrote a piece recently on how Kiki’s Delivery Service spoke to me as someone struggling to make it in the world. In it, I stated the following:

“While I’ve never been in Kiki’s situation to help rekindle my creative spark, her fight with herself is still a universal one. Far too often, our greatest critic is us. We feel we’re not worthy of respect or adoration, and it makes us feel awful.”

I realize now that I was being too modest. Because I often feel like I’m struggling with Blogger’s Views counter for relevancy, relying on hot topics, missing out on what I want to discuss. And it’s showing, as, despite my recent stuff doing well, I’m not pulling in the numbers I was even late last year. Part of it could be that I promised myself I’d up my output on The Whitly-Verse, and now that I have…well, it’s not so exciting. I’m my own worst enemy.

The above is also still weighing on my mind, too. I think, for example, that Todd Phillips is using his insecurities to drive a divisive film. I think that Martin Scorcese, talented though he may be, was out-of-line, and that James Gunn’s taking flak for words he never uttered. I think the ordeal with Sesame Street, though not disastrous, will hurt its ratings. And let’s not get started on the comedy scene, which is depressing in its own right.

But even with sharing my thoughts, the aggravation won’t disappear. If anything, it’ll only get worse! Because although writing about my concerns is great therapy, it’s also been a challenge when it’s not monetized. It also isn’t as much fun to discuss anything when I have to beg for people to read my work in five different places. That’s a crapshoot with mixed results.

Actually, let’s discuss that: whenever I write for The Whitly-Verse, I share a link to the same five places. The first is my new writing job’s Slack channel, where the odds of it being read are close to nil. From there, I go to my old Discord buddy, hoping he’s awake or responsive. Then I go to the old Infinite Rainy Day Discord server, where the odds of it being read are also close to nil. Then I go to Facebook, where most of my viewership is. Finally, I Tweet about it, Tag my 7 most-trusted readers and wait.

It’s a lot to maintain, and I’m a small fish. I may have a dedicated readership, I’ve had people remind me of that, but I often crave more. I’ve unintentionally set my ambitions way too high, hoping that, with the right piece, I’ll go viral. I guess, in that sense, I’ve already peaked with my Korrasami rant 4 years ago.

Still, a part of me wants the old days of IRD to return, where I could be guaranteed to make waves and have those waves hit me in return. Was the pay great? No. But given the circumstances, making reliable money each month was enough to keep me happy. It gave me spending cash.

I miss that. Even now, as I write paid columns for Nintendo Enthusiast, I often feel like I’m undervalued. My pieces are frequently manicured, and while they regularly explode in popularity, they also feel heavily divorced from my general writing style. Plus, none of the traffic there flows back to me, namely because I go by a different alias. It’s frustrating when I’m the “pot stirrer” because of a controversial piece I wrote, yet no one connects it to my more-restrained work on The Whitly-Verse.

Basically, I feel like Kiki, getting by with little and making no headway. I feel like that one scene where she comes home exhausted, heads to her room and faceplants on her bed in exhaustion. That’s not a great feeling. But I know that the world has to continue, so who am I to give up? Who am I to throw in the towel? That’s pretty selfish, right?

That’s been my overlaying concern. I also realize this feels like a disjointed rant about nothing. I’m not out of ideas, that’s not my style. But since the Jewish holidays are eating through my energy, I guess cutting back this month might be for the best. I’ll hopefully have another piece or two ready by October 31st, but my output will be more spaced out until I get my life under control again. Or until I really feel a passion to write something, whichever comes first.