This title made you think I was about to get all instructional blogger on you guys, didn’t it?
It’s been a week since I released Songs About Boys. So far, it’s fulfilled its purpose: giving fans of the blog a collection of my old material. People are enjoying it. (Thankfully no cretin has emerged from a sewer to call it “trash.”) I’ve made enough money to treat La to a few rounds of whiskey this weekend as payment for writing that magnificent foreword.
Here’s where I’m stuck: It’s not new anymore. I should probably shut up about it, right? It’s been seven whole Toni Braxton ass days and I don’t have anything else to blog or tweet about? No new goal to work toward?
Never mind that the material took seven years to live and capture and another two to edit and compile into something worth reading. Seven days, one celebratory happy hour, a flurry of social media congrats, 33 copies sold, and a little extra fun money is enough for my efforts. I need to talk about something else.
I read The Life-Changing Magic of Not Giving a F*ck. I’m not supposed to care if celebrating this milestone annoys you. Furthermore, I have a product to sell. Closed mouths don’t get funds in their PayPal accounts. So we’re gonna ride this book release until the entire world stops fucking reading.
[Did I convince you? I’m not convinced. But contrary to popular theory, belief in oneself is not a prerequisite for getting on with the business of life.]
Related: I’ll be a guest on the next episode of Negroes With a Podcast to talk about the book, sex, and relationships. (Shouts to Tunde and Lexi for having me). In the middle of recording, I uttered a phrase that surprised me:
I don’t know if it’s possible to have love in my life without it being the center of my life. Maybe. Maybe not. I guess we’ll see.
I didn’t know I was still that optimistic.