Review by: Nick Sanders
Photos by: Brent Baxter Photography

Nick Sanders is a Dallas based writer who you might have read his past work over at + you can always get a “nickelsack” worth of entertainment from him over on his personal blog!

Originally published on January 4th at

“It’s more than nature. It’s like my destiny.” – I come from the water

In today’s duality laced blogging and blog-loathing journalistic and literary environment, how does one find himself or herself as a writer? How does a budding wordsmith create a market for what they alone can offer, get paid to produce words, and keep both eyes on the prize – book deals and printed writing credits – all at the same time? It seems in the field of words, writer is as synonymous with blogger as it is with journalist. Many who consider themselves members of the old school still turn their nose up at the mention of a “blog.” As a young hopeful, what is one to do? Get onto WordPress with the rest of the herd and hopefully eek out something interesting enough to stand out? Or shall we fight the good fight and seek to light a literary fire in the youth once again, as in pre-social media America, all the while cringing in utter disdain at mere the mention of the b-word?

It all depends on your skillset. Apart from – or maybe in spite of – or maybe more than – any skill as a writer, I consider myself an extremely talented schmoozer. Maneuvering around social nuances, flattering those in need of flattery, understanding the transcendent nature of art and music as commentary on the human experience are all skills I take into consideration. Battling the blank page to translate them into digestible nuggets for the shortest attention spans in human history is another matter entirely.

So how does this shameless self-promotion support the idea that I will be a good writer? What does it take to spew engaging material about a topic that laymen don’t care about? It takes schmoozing, a keen eye for debauchery, and an interesting angle. I’ve learned one thing from my experience covering nightlife events; it feels good to be bad. As a culture, our obsession with late nights is due to the fact that a hungover day at work tomorrow seems worth the mistakes of tonight. An awkward morning is better than a lonely evening. If the All-present Spirit of the universe lives within everything all the time, where is it in these moments? Where is God in the degenerate? Where is the nice within the naughty? There’s poetry in the random, of that I’m sure, and my mission is to find it.

The strongest emotions of life are often not evident in the moment. They must be viewed in hindsight. That’s why memories stay with you. Scientifically, they serve as a reminder of things beneficial to survival. The decision of what’s vital is made by your subconscious mind. If it’s important enough for your Id to keep, it’s good for you. You receive dopamine releases from pulsing bass music, running from the cops, snorting coke off the back of the toilet, there’s no shortage of things vital to a person’s survival. There’s nothing inherently healthy about these activities. There’s no reason why you should remember them fondly, but you do. Eating, breathing, these are things you do to stay alive. These things are important. But they are not much more vital than the things you do to feel alive.



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