Living, Writing


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?



Soy un Escritor (o Perdedor)

Do you find your muse is very specific? And stingy? She will not grant amazing blog entries and inspired chapters simultaneously. It is one or the other my friend. The imagination, brain, stamina is easily overtaxed. One cannot expect too much out of any one or all. Pick your battles. Pin one on your shirt; shove the other in the drawer. Either write for obscurity or build a platform for a work that won’t exist. Ah, but there’s the rub. Where are the benefactors? The sponsors? The insanely rich and generous who will pay me to sit at home and write the great American novel? It’s so much easier to whine about it than actually go write. . .