I don’t think that’s what I’m doing. Yet. Here I am, retired for nearly a month. And it’s true, I’ve written about three paragraphs on the novel, which isn’t a new novel, it’s actually been in process for quite a while. But what I really want to do is blog. Fret and Blog and Plant Huge Amazon-like Wisconsin Plants all over my new large yard (and mow the grass atop my riding John Deere, beer not optional).
Is that wrong?
What are your thoughts on creating and maintaining a writer’s blog? Are there guidelines that everyone else knows that I’ve been missing? I know a blog isn’t exactly a diary and that it should be focused. I’ve read a few articles on the subject, but other than that…
I used to have a Caring Bridge blog, back a couple of years. That was much more diary-like. And focused. It was a way to survive, basically, and it also kept my family and friends informed about that ever changing friend of mine (forgive me for calling cancer friend– we’ve just been together so long, and I find it easier to accept than reject). That blog was somehow easier to write. Probably because it was semi-private, personal, and wasn’t an obvious attempt at creating anything “literary.” The truth is though, that in all of my writing, no matter the topic, literary elements such as substance, depth, and hopefully, style, are all used to convey sensation and meaning. The years of reading, study, and academic and creative discovery and training don’t disappear when you blog, or even when you sit down to write a thank you note. This can be a burden.
What is the old saying? Education is the one thing no one can ever take away from you.
So hello from Wisconsin. My new boggy writing place. The bog. A neighbor told me, “You’re livin’ in the swamp now, honey. It’ll take some getting used to.”
From Lake Arrowhead, that heady high thin airy hideaway, to Salem, this heavy low thick hideaway, the writer in me still lives. She’s just busy. Getting used to the changes.
Happy Writing, Writers! Let me know how it’s going for you. And, please do tell, what are you reading this summer? Book reviews, please!
And now, the wind! A cool, fierce, curtain blowing wind insists that I go outside in the dark, forgetting about whatever the bog was like this afternoon. I’m not that way now, it shouts. Am I? Oak branches wave and threaten to crack and flatten me into the thick wet grass. Invigorated, I return to my desk.