Blog, Redux

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” my mother often says. That sums up my blogging history quite neatly.

Blogging was supposed to be a fun diversion (read: “procrastination tool”) that helped me keep in touch with family and friends while sharing a few tidbits from our daily grind. Videos for the grandparents. Quaint anecdotes about the kids that I wanted to write down but always forgot before I located the baby book. Things of that nature.

Good plan.

I never intended to make it my occupation — or even an abstraction. And it wasn’t.

I had “real” writing to do, after all. Wouldn’t it be better for me to get “serious” writing done than to fritter away my time [pretentious sniff] blogging?

Naturally.

Except I never seem to get any of that serious writing done.

I read. [“Books, Jerry.”] I launder. I make meals. I volunteer. I watch reality TV. I intervene in very promising plans my two boys concoct toward becoming one boy … or perhaps even zero boys. I invest endless hours combing the internet with search terms like stair rails and purse inserts and potty training resistance. I sleep.

And I keep saving my creative impulses for “important” writing rather than squandering it on blogging. As if there is some virtue to refusing to eat a burger because you don’t have time for a steak. Even if blogging is the fast food of writing, that doesn’t mean I ought to throw up my hands and starve merely on principle.

I told the trainer at my gym: “If good intentions and a rich fantasy life had any impact on physical fitness, I’d look like Demi Moore in Charlie’s Angels 2.”

Which I don’t. Yet.

If they counted for anything in the literary sense, I would also be an amazingly prolific and successful writer.

Which I’m not.

Yet.

My mother says my inner editor is taking over: I’m too conscious of editing things I haven’t even written to actually buckle down and write the friggin’ thing. Discipline was never my strong suit.

Now, well-intended resolutions purposed to change my entire life in one fell swoop — those I do very well.

So, as they say: “Trying this again…”

Remaining faithful to a blog will be no picnic, I realize. My writing won’t be as perfect as I would like it to be and I’m trying to get used to that fact. But my intention is to write something — often. Long, short, funny, serious, true, total crap. Just write something.

Hopefully, something interesting. But no promises.

The difference between talent and genius is how low you set the bar. — William Faulkner

Just kidding. That was me.

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About The Chatelaine

The Dragonslayer's Wife. Mother of two Knights of The Realm. Keeper of the castle. Dame of The Order of Goldfish. Empress of Errands. Mistress of Leftovers. Writer betimes. Luckiest woman in the world.
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