For quite some time now, I have placed an unnecessary amount of pressure upon myself to produce weekly content for this weblog.
I am no longer going to do this.
My constant struggle to create a new “Distraction” before each and every Wednesday has not only caused me to lose sight of why I decided to set myself such a target in the first place (namely, to allow my imagination the opportunity to flourish in a format beyond the written word) but has also stifled the progress of all of my other creative endeavours - including, rather ironically, the written works for which this blog was originally created.
I no longer wish to put a short story on the back burner because it’s Tuesday and I haven’t filmed tomorrow’s video yet. I refuse to spend all of my Sunday afternoons waiting for my laptop to cool down because my editing software has caused it to crash. I want to draw a goose, write a poem about carpets and, if the mood takes me, play on the swings.
This blog is called “Maidment Unsupervised”, not “Maidment Constantly Under Pressure From His Own Deluded Impression That People Expect Him To Stick To A Rigid Schedule”.
I was once a sentence shuffling story shaper, an opinion pushing pontificator, a crude poet and a satire shoveller. If, on a Monday, I presented you with a 14,000 word story about a man who can talk to paintings then, rest assured, Thursday would see me shouting about sharks, or something equally unpredictable.
I feel like I’ve become a peddler of sketches, and that’s not a thing I wanted to be.
Which isn’t to say that I intend to hang up my leopard ears and put my camera in a box. This is not a letter of resignation and nor is it a very dull, very one-sided, very sad retirement party. This is, as the title suggests, a declaration of creative freedom. If an idea pops into my head and moving imagery accompanied by sound is the best way to convey said notion, then moving imagery accompanied by sound it shall be. And neither will you have to wait too long for such a thing - I have one or two bullets already in the chamber and a plethora of suggestions written in child-like scrawl on post-it notes aplenty.
No, this is not the end of something, just a shift in attitude towards it. A switch from “have” to “could”, from “must” to “can”.
For a while, I have no doubt, this lax in regulation, this lifting of deadlines, this permission slip to procrastinate will cause a lull in output. If you tell a man he can drop what he’s doing the moment it becomes even slightly frustrating in favour of playing golf, that man will play golf.
In the long run, however, the works that make it to your eyes (and, possibly, ears) will be those that were capable of holding my attention and thus, in theory, those most worthy of your attention.
Thank you for your time and for your continued interest in my work, you fictional being, you.