How long until the shine wears off? At what point does your blog stop being viable and become a chore? Or does it go through cycles, prone to the whims of your life just as you are?
I remember being upset, maybe even angry, when bloggers I loved decided to throw in the towel because posting and maintaining the blog was taking away from their real writing, their real life. Knowing full well it was what the bloggers needed at the time, I still selfishly didn’t want to let them go.
Then in a post I wrote two weeks ago, the last time I posted on a Thursday, I lamented the pull of personal writing vs. blog writing. That I was tapped out once I attended to one, with no inspiration left for the other. I could feel the burn. I understood the reasoning of those others I hadn’t wanted to take a hiatus.
Plus, with life being life – where the living of it gets in the way of, you know, living it – uninterrupted time to sit and think and create is at a premium. Usually I don’t get past ‘sit’ without wanting to close my eyes.
I know, lots of whining, when I could have been actually creating – and no, this is not my blosignation. I am nothing if not a stubborn mule. I have set my mind to a blog schedule and I will get back on it, come hell or high stress levels.
As always, it’s a matter of finding that sweet spot, that slice of solitude and peace – where words come easily and self-expression is crystal clear and empowering. Can I get an AMEN?
Sherri
/ December 4, 2014You’ve got an Amen from me Jennifer, on all fronts 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Jennifer Butler Basile
/ December 4, 2014Thanks, Sherri 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Eric Tonningsen
/ December 4, 2014I go through cycles with mine. I also consider it a labor of love… and giving.
LikeLike
Jennifer Butler Basile
/ December 4, 2014You are always so magnanimous in your comments, Eric. Gives me something to aspire to – and almost want to stop whining 😉
Thank you!
LikeLike
Eric Tonningsen
/ December 4, 2014Your reply is warming and encouraging. Thank you, Jennifer!
LikeLiked by 1 person