Why Marsha can’t blog
A few months ago I posted on the main page of this site that I would soon be adding a blog so that I could record whatever odd thoughts and ramblings happened to cross my mind.
A lot of writers have blogs, and I looked at several when considering how to approach mine. One writer’s blog was mostly about movies she’d seen, another about what she cooks her family for dinner. I don’t cook, and don’t see why anybody would care about it if I did. I do watch movies regularly, but again, why write about them? I’m a novelist. My writing energy goes into my fiction. If and when something unusual or interesting occurs in my life, I find a way to use it in my work. The minutiae of daily life interests me greatly, but only insofar as I can get a good scene out of it.
As time passed, it got embarrassing to keep reading about my good intentions, kind of like broadcasting to the world your New Year’s resolutions and then publicly failing to live up to them. I finally removed the pronouncement, and now I’m forced to admit that blogging is apparently not part of my artistic make-up.
Just for the sake of example, I decided to write down what I’ve done so far today: Woke up. Fed cats. Went back to sleep. Woke up again. Ate breakfast, checked email, took shower, got dressed. Started a load of laundry. Worked on novel-in-progress. Checked email again. Transferred laundry from washer to dryer. Worked more on novel. Removed laundry from dryer. Finished chapter. Backed up day’s work. Checked email again. Meanwhile, my neighbors are having their patio power-washed (a very noisy process, as it turns out), it’s 98 degrees outside, and the mail’s late.
Ho-hum.
Now you see why Marsha can’t blog.
