Time. It flies and then it stalls and then it lurches and then it sort of drips along. And when it does, so do I (except maybe for the flying part).
During those times, the opportunity to reevaluate (my life, my choices, my impact, my relationships, my idea of who/what/why I am) pushes its way to the front of my mind every now and then. Now is one of those thens.
A few years ago, when I stopped teaching, I was a capital-W Writer. Full-time. Full-steam-ahead. It was a huge joy. Productive? I’ll tell you what. I was busting out novels. Ideas flowed. Words added upon words. I had a shiny new identity (Full Time Professional Published Author/Writer) and I felt (often) like I knew what I was doing about it. That lasted for a while (until some Life Things interferred with the mojo).
Now I’m full-time Other Stuff, and writing when I can pull it off. Today in my therapy appointment, I committed to 25 minutes of daily writing 5 times a week for two months. Which is totally something I’m capable of doing. And also, somehow, terrifying. What am I writing? What do I have to say? What story is in my head? Is there anything here at all? Then I got home from work, and I remembered I have a website and a blog (oh, yeah). Largely ignored for the longest time, it’s still here.
I started this blog in 2008. That was a very long time ago, and the landscape of the online world was different. I met some of my dearest friends through the blog scene. That seems quaint now, but the medium is right here, paid for, and easy for me to access. Also, worst case scenario, I have a few new pages of webiste content by the end of September.
So I’m restarting this kind of writing. Slice of life? Top of mind? Mullings? Musings? Honestly, it doesn’t matter. I can explore whatever I want, because what are the odds anyone reads it but me?