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Raising Camelot

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Blog, Redux

in Confidential on 07/29/09

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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Wife. Mother. Writer. Maker. Baker. INTJ. Nightowl. Razorback. Hopelessly flawed. Christ follower. In no particular order.
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