Writing

I’m reflecting on the dramatic decline in real human traffic to my blog, the rise of AI-mediated reading, and the loss of the narcissistic gratification I used to get from engaged readership. I’m not sure yet whether this is a bad thing, but it’s a real change and I’m uncertain how or whether to adapt.

I’m reflecting on how shame has shaped my life and my blog since 2010 — from the radical openness I once had in writing about my most uncomfortable impulses, to the self-judgment and contempt that have crept back in now that I’m less anonymous and less self-accepting.

There’s just so much content here; you should be able to find stuff! This is one such (really fun) way.

I’m producing more work than ever thanks to AI, but I’m overwhelmed by unfinished drafts, a sense of online obsolescence, and my own mortality.

After a year of physical, familial, and domestic disruption, I’m reflecting on my relationship to sexuality, fantasy, aging, AI, and gender in search of renewed creative flow.

I’m not as honest with you as I used to be.

I’ve been writing a lot, but I’m finding it hard to process that writing into posts for you to read.

I talk to myself for an hour a day now, and I’m drowning in the transcripts.

Writer’s block is a bitch.

I have a super-hot fantasy that I can’t tell you about!