So, here I am, creeping back, wearing my best SEG. And you thought I'd died, or gone off exploring in the southern hemisphere, or organic farming in California, or backpacking around Europe, or teaching Eskimos to dance, or hiding out with The Little Blister in the west of Ireland, or holed up in an attic somewhere writing my masterpiece?
None of the above, as exciting as all, or any of them, would be. I'm just here, treading water, remembering to breathe and stretch regularly, staying out of trouble, eating blueberries, stitching on the never-ending quilt of the moment, taking photographs of course, reading and not writing.
"Aye, there's the rub."
The whole idea of this blog was to write, and for a while it worked. Sometimes it was mindless blather, but once in a while it gave me the beginnings of a story. But then the negative thinking set in --- what does the world care about the ravings of a half-mad Irish woman living in Florida? Isn't that where Americans go to die?What could she possibly have to say? There might have been a bit of laziness involved. And one should never discount the paralyzing effect of family drama on the writing gene. My family, if nothing else, is dramatic. So, write about the drama you say? I could, but after you read it I'd have to kill you. Wouldn't want Jerry Springer to come calling. Of course I'm exaggerating, but still......
That's the theory. But there's a catch, simple sounding but not so simple. To implement it you have to actually drag your procrastinating nether regions to the chair in front of the computer and start pushing buttons. Now I'm good at pushing buttons, ask anyone, but not necessarily the ones that result in a piece of writing after the pushing is done. You'd be gob smacked at the multitude of ways I find to avoid sitting down with that pen, or in front of that computer, with my blinkers on.
.......I have to make the bed (heaven forbid the queen of England should stop in for a spot of tea and glimpse this mess through the living room door.)
........And I really should go to the grocery store, the cupboard is bare and the dog is hungry.
What dog? says the voice, astounded.
Why are you annoying me with logic? I ask. Logic has no place in this argument.
........Oh, and would you look at that dust. You could grow spuds in that...my mother-in-law, rest her dear departed soul, must be spinning in her grave.....
........And I almost forgot about that button that fell out six months ago. It's imperative that I sew it back on right now.
Oh but I do! I do! It's just that blah, blah, blah....by now that voice in my head has nodded off and the only noise in there is the sound of gentle snoring.
In the first flush of enthusiasm I was aiming for every day. "Seriously?" I said to myself. "Might as well shoot yourself in the foot now and get it over with." I will write every day, but a new post every day? Hardly. If I write will you read? Early days in this blog I used to tell myself I was writing for me. Ha! There's no fool like the fool who lies to himself!
It's always better if someone reads.