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Oops, Forgot a Title

by Jason Edwards

Always been intrigued by the idea of zines, those little self-published pamphlets. Absolutely love that idea. If there was a way distribute them internationally to millions of people, that would be my career choice. If it paid. I’d pound away at the keyboard and compile nonsense and edit it poorly and let the occasional misspelling keep it all authentic. I am being sincere.

A blog, or an e-zine, is the next best thing. I smashed together some stuff and printed it and folded it stapled it and called it WIFFLI, and then the idea was to do that again everyone once in a while, with an online version offerings bits on a more piece-meal basis. Sometimes the print version would have stuff from the online version, but not always.

Asked a friend and a writer if she wanted to participate, and she was eager. So we started writing articles and posting them. But the thing never got much traction. Not really anyone to blame for that. I suppose I can blame myself for not staying in top of it writing a lot more and all the time. But why bother? What’s blame going to explain, how’s it going to contextualize righteousness? There’s no righteousness in self-publishing folks, because there’s no righteousness in writing at all.

It’s just something to do. For the past few weeks I’ve been trying hard not to browse websites and play video games. Specifically Tumblr, Reddit, StumbleUpon, Diablo, and World of Warcraft, among others. Not because there’s anything wrong with any of those entities. But because I was turning to them out of boredom, not out of respect for their value. And the result of that abstinence: less slack-jawed grazing, and more time to be creative.

When I allow boredom to motivate me towards lowest-energy-cost endeavors, I wind up eschewing writing, blogging, drawing, minor household projects, reading, career development, time spent plotting sweet nothings for the wife. You see, I have a problem with balance. I get too easily addicted to do nothing for very large periods of time.

I’m not saying that those websites, those video games were the reason Wiffli fell off. But maybe eschewing them for a while will give me some cycles to dedicate to the ol’ zine. I even posted a small rant over at, which saw its previous post in March of 2010.

And let’s be realistic: this may not last. Patterns within patterns, and I could easily slip back into that sort of webby depression. I once blogged for fifty days straight—mostly about blogging. Momentum is not the miracle elixir I might have thought it was. And indeed, when my get up and go has gotten up went, mostly I talk about how I wish I would talk about things more (like I am doing now… so meta!)

This, then, is an article written to myself. But there it is, breaking the crusty seal of inactivity to see what happens. Perhaps an opinion piece about breast feeding. Maybe something about the erstwhile Mariners. Or maybe I’ll give up, delist the domain and use the slot on my webhost to sell a book on Amazon. I need to write one first, but I’m just sayin.

Stay tuned.

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