So it seems I've made another one of my periodic disappearances from the blogging world. Not sure why I can't see to sit down for more than 10 minutes to craft a post. For example, I started writing a review of Saul Bellow's Herzog, got about three paragraphs in, had to stop (because I was writing at work and began to feel guilty about blogging rather than, you know, working), and then just haven't had the motivation to return to it. I've been rather busy socially, which is a good excuse not to be spending time in front of the computer when I'm away from work. And on those days when I don't have after-work or evening plans, I find I just don't have the mental stamina to sit down and craft something interesting. I've been working on some writing projects during the day at my job, and it appears I only have a limited amount of writing in me on a given day. Which is somewhat sad since at one time, back when I was a full-time freelance writer, I really used to be able to crank it out.
I was recently reflecting on my most fruitful blogging days: about two or three years ago when I was going through some tremendous emotional upheaval, and when the blog served as part-therapist, part-catharsis. It was a lifeline, a way to assemble the crazed jumble of thoughts and emotions I was experiencing. I had a lot more readers back then as well - they helped provide some necessary support and feedback. My life is much more settled these days, so my blog writing suffers as a result. And while I wouldn't want to go back and relive those turbulent days, a part of me misses experiencing those emotions, when things were so raw and uncertain and provided grist and fuel for my addled brain. When writing didn't seem frivilous, but a necessity.
It's a trade off. And sometimes (perhaps naively and stupidly) I miss those moments.
BTW, that Bellow review? I'll get to it, eventually. The mini, mini review: it was good.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment