The way I understand it, the purpose of starting a blog is to update it with regular little posts. Perhaps even to become popular. Monetize.
Obviously none of that has been on my mind for almost the last year or so.
Funny how our best intentions always seem to get away from us. But writing is like working out. If you don’t do it a little bit each day you’re going to lose the habit. The muscle will get flabby and weak and the harder it will be to get the routine started again. I know this because I used to exercise. Used to.
Last fall I started a major writing project. A work of considerable length and ambition. I found in the beginning that getting that muscle working again was almost a herculean effort. But I did get the motor going again after quite a lot of desperate yanking on the pullcord and now it seems to be purring away nicely. I finished the thing and now I’m rewriting it and I hope that it will be something that you, my nonexistent audience, can enjoy sometime soon.
BUT, now I’m lacking in areas in which to direct that writing energy. To keep the muscle in good working order. I’ve discovered that the writing muscle and the editing muscle are two different things. The writing is more like aerobic, like walking or running or hiking or riding a bike. The editing is more like the sets and reps and leg lifts and squats and all those careful little movements you repeat to get each muscle group working in turn.
Then I remembered that I have a blog.
It’s an easy thing to forget. When that muscle gets out of shape and the idea of kicking it back into gear gets more and more daunting. So the idea is not to let myself forget about it any more. Now that I have some nice toned writing muscles I need to use this thing to help keep them tight.
The goal is to publish something here at least every week. Maybe two weeks if it turns into something longer and more elaborate. I’ve discovered I’m very much a long form writer. Short stories do not come easily to me. I have the greatest admiration for those who can pump out short stories like spitting out watermelon seeds.
Hemingway not known for extreme brevity, wrote the greatest short story I’ve ever seen: “Baby shoes for sale, not used.”
There is so much contained in those six little words and one comma. Minimalism at its finest, before the word even existed. I think. If I can write anywhere remotely that good one day, I think my life will have reached its zenith. Of course the price always seems to be blowing your own brains out over your typewriter. But I don’t have a typewriter.
At any rate, this was just a little warmup. I have some major displays and feats of strength, if not talent, that should be arriving here soon. One at least I can guarantee will be falling hard on all your heads (all of you? who will even read this?) very soon. Those of you who know what I’ve been up to know what I’m talking about.
Ciao for now.