I suck sometimes. I have a gaggle of half-written posts sitting in drafts, siren-serenading me into finishing them, but my lack of available time and my waning energy levels have kept me from doing anything but the bare minimum. I’m blaming a couple of different things this week, from having a moving hangover (can you have a hangover when things are still in boxes? asking for a friend) to having some outside counsel in town all week. Whatever the cause, I suck.
My goal for the weekend (besides getting absolutely everything out of boxes) is to finish some of them and actually have a schedule for posting next week. You know, get some of those half-finished posts in actual posting order. I’ve gotten my blogger groove back, but the organizational side? Still pretty lacking.
I don’t know, I still harken back to the “good old days” of blogging when you woke up in the morning and published whatever was on your mind, not a canned, impersonal filler post. You didn’t really have to have an editorial calendar or worry about branding. Not to say that all scheduled posts are canned filler — not at all, actually — but you can easily tell what posts function as the zinnia and what posts function as the sunflowers (sorry, I’ve been reading a lot about gardening). I should move past that — I know, because an editorial calendar is a must for people who love to write, want to post regularly, and have day jobs — but it’s a work in progress.
It’s a bummer that I’ve gotten so invested in blogging again during the busiest work season of ever. Of course it couldn’t happen when my day job was a little more inactive — that would have been much too easy. There’s so much excitement in this era of my life that I love to write about it. Back a few years ago, I had come out of a relationship that had run its course (outrun, actually, by miles and miles), and the dissolution of that, despite its necessity, took a toll on me in every possible way. When you’re in a period like that, when your mind is pulled in a hundred different ways because you literally can’t decide what to do next, it’s hard to write about your life. It’s hard to chronicle a shitstorm when the shitstorm is an autobiography.
Whatever I do now, and however I choose to go forward with writing, I want to do it because I love it, not because I have an inflated ego that yearns for head-pats and likes. The second I move into that territory, one in which validation is the only motivator, I need to hang it up and move along. I love having a little space to share my thoughts, misguided though they may be, and I would hate to bastardize that by changing my style because I’m lusting for flattery.
Now tell me how pretty I am.