I started this blog to give me an opportunity and a vehicle for regular writing. And like a lot of beginning bloggers I really wasn’t all that clear on what I’d be writing about – vaguely I thought I’d weave stories from my past and my present, with some humor and maybe a little lesson culled from my work with mindfulness in there somewhere. I don’t know that I ever thought anyone else might read what I wrote, at least not at the beginning.
So what changed? I started having an audience – maybe they started out just dropping an Entrecard, but some stuck around to read a post or two, and even a few let me know how my writing affected them. When no one else was actually reading what I wrote, I was just doing a more advanced “Dear Diary, today I ate fish sticks. Marsha is a big toad!”. But now I wanted what I wrote to be well written, polished, and to the level of a professional writer, which I assuredly am not. I’ve ended up writing long essay-like posts with long periods of nothing in-between. I don’t know that there’s anything wrong with this, but the purpose was to be doing regular writing, not irregular writing. So along with my perfectionism has come procrastination and paralysis (the evil triumvirate).
Ultimately, I love reading good writing of all forms (I subscribed for years to The New Yorker and still have it delivered to my office where I sneak read it before putting it out in my waiting room!). But my writing? Well . . . I’m going to have to rethink what is possible for me. I already have one business and one “second” job; I’m not sure I want this blog to be a third job, too.
The best I can come up with at this moment is something an old boyfriend used to say, “Writers write.” He never said “writers write really good stuff.” Or “writers write really lengthy stuff.” No, it’s simple and profound, “Writers write.”