Confessional: An explanation

This blog used to be a fairly happening place. I was on my game, and it was all about me having a good time.

But I said a few times that this blog was a creative tool. You need to understand that writer’s block, when it afflicts you for years on end, is like wandering a desert aimlessly. There’s no landmark to tell you where to go, every direction feels the same, and you’re constantly bogged down by this desperate wanting, a wanting that never, ever gets quenched.

I started The Last Ditch in early November, 2004, and promised myself I would fight through that writer’s block. I wrote daily, I posted anything that came to mind, and in fact, on this blog, I still do that -- I post daily on one of my two blogs, but the A-game usually winds up on the other site.

For me, the Ditch is a pressure valve. “Cheaper than therapy,” is my slogan, and lord fucking knows I’ve needed that therapy.

Over the past three months, I’ve probably lost a lot of readers, and justifiably so. I have no illusions about the fact that this place ain’t what it was.

I began to feel an itch in June, this need to find a concrete direction. Anyone who followed the Ditch knows it has always been scattered, very A.D.D. in its appeal. That was me fumbling through the dark in search of something tenable, a writing style that best fit me, that I could excel at.

If you’re not a “writer” writer, you will never understand this compelling need to share your vision with the world. Writing, true writing, is about getting inside yourself and finding what voice suits you the best. It doesn’t need to be Hemingway or Faulkner. It can be rants, poetry, humour, experimental prose, or flat-out non-fiction.

As that compelling need took stronger hold and I began to feel more and more anger about not having found my distinct voice despite having broken the shackles that bound me, I decided to take a creative risk and go in a completely different direction.

For some reason, I’ve always been interested in sex advice. I always found that, as I grew up, my family had really repressed attitudes about sex. I only ever saw my parents really kiss maybe a couple of times. I was scarred mentally when I walked in on them having sex once, and despite them knowing it, it was never discussed, just swept under the rug.

My mother had always attached the notion of shame to sex, that to fuck was to disrespect yourself, so when I fell in love at 17 and lost my virginity, I was so ashamed of it for so long.

But more importantly, I was angry that I was ashamed. I knew there was no reason to be ashamed. The reality is, I’ve never been promiscuous and I’ve had only a select few sexual partners. For me, the emotional content is SO important with sex. I can’t just sleep with anyone, and do not foresee that changing.

Yet here I am, writing about sexual advice for the masses on my other blog. How’s that going? I’ve far surpassed this site in daily visits. Nothing this site has ever done, traffic wise, even remotely compares. I’ve increased my traffic over there by 1000% in three weeks, and expect a thousand visitors today.

Why? Because the writing feels so comfortable to me.

The only other writing that fits me as well is ranting. But ranting involves constantly finding fault with the world, with people. It’s a dark thing, and for me, it never left me feeling lighter or stronger... but I feel that way when I get the response I get from That Other Blog.

Both my experiences with sex and with drugs have occasionally left me feeling ashamed. Shame is one of the stupidest emotions we can ever feel, though, and largely comes from a place or ignorance or fear. It’s shame that has always driven me to educate myself. That said, I know more about sex than most people ever come to know, and only a handful of men have ever had the privilege of learning that.

But it saddens me to see so much stupidity out there around sex. So much frustration. And so damned much bad skill. It frustrates me that people don’t realize sex can be one of the most intense forms of communication two people share, and it angers me that so much judgment still surrounds it.

I have begun taking questions from my public and am stunned to see the questions coming in, questions that can be solved with a short web search, or some creativity, or a visit to the library, yet they’re turning to me for this help.

I’ve already had emails from couples telling me I’ve contributed wonderful things to their sex lives. I’ve had some young girls email me to tell me they’re already feeling better about themselves and are less scared. I’ve had men thank me for the tips, thank me for understanding the pressures they face.

Yeah, I have some fun with the column and I’m amusing and cute in my approach to the writing, and I have some issues to get over as far as the stupid stigma attached to saying I want to be a sex advice writer, but I love the response I’m getting, that I’m really contributing in a meaningful way to people’s lives.

It blows my mind, and I’m fucking loving it. I’ve found a calling, and I’m pursuing it.

So the Last Ditch suffers. It gets mediocre posts and little links and short jokes, but that’s the way I suspect it might be for awhile. I didn’t want it to go this way, but with the attention and popularity and notoriety that has suddenly fallen my way, I’d be a fool to neglect my new site.

I will be a success. I’m almost certain of it. Not just because my ability, but because I know how to sell myself, and so few writers do.

Also, because I look at sex differently. I take it seriously, but I’m also very funny about it, and because I’m a strong chick in touch with both my masculine and my vulnerable female sides. I know I appeal to both sexes, and few sex writers really do.

And I’m proud of it. I feel better about where I am right now than I have ever felt in my life. Few of you can have any idea how incredibly good it is to finally know where to go... to know how to get out of that endless, vacuous desert of disappointment I’ve wandered for so long.

The Last Ditch will occasionally have a great post and I know it. Maybe I’ll get slagged for being so cocky, but I don’t give a shit. People confuse modesty and humility. It’s not about keeping quiet regarding your talents -- it’s about knowing your limitations and your weaknesses. I’m a versatile writer, but I’ve only recently found where my voice is strongest.

And it isn’t here.

(Email me if you want the link and haven't been by the new pad yet.)