You can't have that attitude and blog. Moreover, lately I've been less and less interested in reading my own thoughts, and blogging is nothing if not an unblinking navel gaze. I've been trying write, you see, really write. Not just record my day or my observations in pretty sentences but create something new. But right now I'm in the neither-nor phase: I have neither succeeded in creating something every day nor have I quit before I started. Blogging is a good thing to do in this stage. It does qualify as writing, I suppose, but it is not something that is creative. I've bagged this blog for a while because I'm more interested in looking inward, spending time with ideas that could become stories and people, but that need more time offline. I'm doing more of that writing, I am, but I don't want to share it with anyone at all for quite a while.
Am I being too precious? Is what I'm doing right now worth holding it close, finessing draft after draft so that I couldn't throw something up on the old blog? Maybe I will from time to time, or just photos and comments, or things I've cooked up in the past that are ready enough for the light of day. But now, the work has to happen for my eyes only. As a new fiction writer, I'm living in an unfinished house with people I feel I ought to know better, people with indistinct features and muddled lives, muttering to me that the roof leaks and the heat doesn't work and how are we all supposed to get on here if I'm never going to do anything about it?
Insanity or genius? Only one way to find out. Check in every so often to see how I'm doing.
