I was speaking with Handsome on Friday, and I told him that I was dissatisfied with this blog-business here, this whole thing.
I might have been in a bit of a mood.
Then Handsome hauls off and tells me that its probably because I used to write because I wanted to, and now [he thinks] I write just to get hits and visits and followers.
|This is what happens with a zoom lens and not enough space.|
Its also Handsome talking to me, while trying to block my shot of the lake.
Because he's darling like that.
So I stopped talking to him.
And then I rolled the idea around in my mind, and I thought on it, and waited a bit for any of the truth in his statement to stand up and make itself known. I didn’t find exactly what he said, but I did find that I was forcing the issue, some. Writing even when I didn’t feel like it, just to get a post up. He was at least partially right: I used to write because I wanted to.
Silly, I know, that in these short 6 months since February (which is when I think I really started writing in full force) that I could get to this point, whatever “this point” is. But I wasn’t writing just because I wanted to, and I wasn’t writing what I wanted and what I meant to be writing.
So I stopped writing.
I didn’t even worry about it at all. I still photographed things and thought to myself, “Maybe I’ll write about this some day,” but that’s as far as I got. It was nice, the break. The reprieve. I mean, it only lasted about 4 days, but it was 4 days that I needed. I think I’m back, although I may just take some breaks here and there. I don’t exactly have a plan, and I’m not sure what I’m going to do, save for one thing.
In the immortal words of my husband (can you say that about someone while they’re still alive?),
I do what I want.
And so I will.
Now, this may mean that what I write has even less bearing on your life than my normal, everyday drivel, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take. I’ve got to; else I’ll end up writing to please others, and not sharing any of my own self.
Sharing nothing that’s not me,