Mission Statement

This blog will be an exercise in exercising the part of my brain that wants to write the truth. It’s fun to write purely fabricated fiction, but sometimes you just have to be yourself, as dull as that sounds. My goal is to write for no more than sixty minutes every day, and this includes time for a quick re-read and edit of the daily blog post. It’ll be the lazy-man’s equivalent of a professional football player hitting the gym first thing on a morning. They get a hell of a workout by charging around the pitch for ninety minutes a week, and attending their daily training camps, but they still find time on a morning to hoist themselves onto a treadmill of some kind.

This blog is my treadmill, it is my writers gymnasium. Welcome to the jungle (gym).

As is the case with a public gym, I’m exercising for all the world to see but ideally nobody will be watching it happen. Seriously, don’t read any of these posts. They’ll be rough around the edges as far as spelling and grammar are concerned, due to the time restrictions I’m going to be giving myself. I’m only really making them public so as to leave at least one continuous practice behind for the ashes to marvel at. The internet is a public forum, but please do not read a single word beyond this sentence.

You bastard. Fine, well as long as you’re here then I may as well continue with my mission statement. It’s funny; I loathe the idea of anyone other than myself looking at these sentences, yet the possibility that someone might be is what spurs my fingers on. I’m a firm member of Generation Me, for all my sins, so I can’t help but enjoy the attention, it’s simply how we were raised. I’m that person who deeply craves the idea of being the centre of attention, but the second the spotlight is on me I flinch and retreat, like some fearful cockroach.

Nuke me to high heaven, my freshly bleached skeleton will continue to hammer away at the melted, plastic keys.

As for the content of this blog, I’m still undecided. I’ve written a list of fifty-some topics that I could write about extensively for a thousand words or an hour or so. Some relate to the current social, cultural and political climate, whilst others are more personal struggles that the gen-pop might be able to relate to. I imagine that if I follow this structure, some of my daily exercises will have meaning whilst others will lack. That’s okay, I’m okay with that I think.

I mean, they’re all just the meaningless words of one in seven billion. My perspective is by no means unique, despite the pocket of existence that I’ve attempted to carve out for myself. I’m an Englishman living in Colorado, but I bet there’s at least a thousand people who share that exact same experience. So geographically I’m by no means unique. I’m a white male who’s at least ninety-five percent heterosexual, which is so disgustingly straight that I may as well identify as such. So not only is my general perspective the cultural norm, it’s the exact kind of voice that we need less of in the world.

Straight, white men have been exclusively speaking for the last two thousand years, and look where that got us. I believe we’re entirely responsible for any and all hegemonic monstrosities, such as the Marvel cinematic universe.

So don’t read any of this for my social perspective (don’t read this at all!!!), but for the way in which I say it. You’ll always get a kick from the flow, I hope. Over the years I’ve developed a style that’s equal parts my own arrogance, and influence from the few writers I actually enjoy. I could talk for hours about “voice”, so I think I’ll save that expansion for another day. Why use all the machines in the gym on day one? Why be a coked-up hamster in a sweatband?


You won’t be aware of this (until I refer to it in the second half of this sentence), but I just paused for three minutes. I cut myself off by deciding not to write about a particular topic. My mind was heading in one direction and I slammed my foot on the breaks. From this I have learned that it’s okay to behave this way during my mental exercises. As long as I’m in the headspace of writing for myself for roughly an hour, then I’m okay with it. And as I’m the only one who these words are technically for, then I’m the only one who needs to be okay.

So if you’re still reading, either on the day of publication or in retrospect, then please understand that the disjointed nature of it all is not only intentional, but a raw insight into this particular mind. Wow, I can almost taste the ego falling from my tongue. Hopefully I can kill that with each daily workout.

Squash it like the bug it is, be one with your existence.

The majority of my working days are spent writing fiction. Currently nobody is paying me to do that, but my hope is that someone, somewhere will take an interest in my novels and short stories. They’re not groundbreaking and they won’t change the public consciousness forever. My works won’t be talked about for generations to come, or taught in literature classes in the terrifying future. But I believe they’re good enough for me to sell a handful.

I’m through not having confidence in my work. My sentences are strong enough for me to at least feed myself through them, so that’s the ultimate aim of all of this.

My personal life is disgustingly content, so it’s time to make a profession from something I love. I want to be known as an average but prolific writer, because that’s what I can offer. There are fewer places in the world I love more than being behind the lettered keys. To put my prolificacy in perspective, I gave myself a sixty minute time limit to write a thousand words. Yet here I am at 1,041 and thirty-two minutes, looking to wrap up my first post. KILL THAT EGO, MATT.

So I’m letting this raw mind write, and spill out onto the digital page. I have very little to say with my lips, but I have so much for you to absorb with your eyes.

But please don’t.

Today is May 7th, 2018. It’s bright and sunny, but I can still see snow atop the peak.

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