erin judge writes this

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I'm Erin Judge. I'm a comedian and a writer. I live in Los Angeles. Let's hug.

April 2, 2007

a bit blank

This shit is bananas.

And spelling. And so on.

Alright, kiddies and readers (both of you), it's time for me to come clean: I haven't been writing lately because I can't write. You see, I've developed a bit of a...phobia. Honestly. It's a fear of criticism, which I developed after receiving some, and this whole time I've been thinking that I was just too lazy or too busy or too tied up in my sloth to bang out a few sentences and then I thought harder and realized that I was terrified. Am.

Am terrified.

I don't like it when people don't like what I do. Sure, there's the occasional troll who tells me that probably the reason I don't think the Pussycat Dolls are the towering pinnacles of women's liberation is that probably I'm to ugly to fuck probably definitely, ITHO*. Even that makes me seize up all self-conscious-like, so when people I know and love tell me that what I do is right crap, I guess it just....I don't know. I can't blog. I can't work on my screenplays or my other writing project. I can't. All I can do is journal, writing endless emails to myself about how I really oughtta just suck it up and write and get over my aversion, but I can't.

And I write all of this in the present tense because it's still here, even as I type with full intent to hit "publish." I have to get it back, I have to earn it. This blog was going to be a well-crafted blog, not one of those tributary streams of consciousness feeding into the wide muddy Blogossippi River, but rather one of the ones that bespeaks grace and candor, whit and craftsmanship, and gets literary agents to notice the blogger's inimitable talents and sell the blogger's screenplay and get the blogger book deals and get the blogger out of her job as a secretary in academia. It happens.

But now it's the blog about nothing, the blog about my rants and raves and contrived jokes. And I'm not trying to say anything. I'm just trying to write and not be scared.

So I invite you to criticize me. Tell me I suck. Especially if you really actually think so, and particularly if we used to be friends or relatives or respect each other. I just split a thing, that was bad grammar back there, and here, too, don't you see? WHY AREN'T YOU CRITICIZING ME?!?!?

My skin, like a yankee gravy, needs thickening, and I hope to crap that I can count on you fuckers to help me immunize myself. I need dead virus in the gravy. See, now I'm mixing metaphors. CALL ME OUT!

Love,
Not A Writer, But Soon
Dot Com

*in troll's humble opinion

6 comments:

PsyChris said...

Well...the reality is that I am a voyeur. I prefer the stuff that's just you because I like knowing what's going on in your life. The whit, charm, yadda-yadda ya, whatever...well, that's just an extra bonus.

I have nothing to criticize. You write well. I chuckle a lot when I read you're stuff. And mostly, it's a way for me to keep up when I know we go entirely too long between visits/phone calls/emails.

Wendy said...

So, I was trying to comment yesterday but my job rudely interrupted.

Just tell the truth. It was the only thing that ever went over well on my old blog. When I was at my most honest, I got the most feedback. Mostly good. Sure there were trolls, and a creepy guy claimed to have fallen in love with me when he'd never met me, but it was mostly great.

I want the nitty and the gritty from the blogs I read.

You are a wonderful writer, but blogs aren't about art, or even craft, really, IMHO. Just let it out.

Ezra Cooper said...

Your spelling of "wit" like totally sucks.

the make-up artist said...

Oh yeah? Well I don't care a wit what you think!

Chris said...

Wow, ezruh coper. I'm so sory my speling ofended yew. I supose I shud spel chek evrything so I dont acidentaly bothur yew when your eve's droping on a coment to sumwon else.

Kathryn said...

If you were living in Ethiopia, you'd give anything to have a blog in which to write your thoughts. You'd also finish what's on your plate.

Love,
Mother