The Insecure Writer: Putting the Blah in Blogging

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I feel the need to share a secret: I hate blogging.

I should probably not be telling you this.  After all, it is written in the writer’s Ten Commandments: “Thou shalt have a blog.” Look it up; it’s right in between “Thou shalt not abuse adverbs” and “All of thy speech tags shall be called ‘said’.”

            Blogging, so it is writ, is one of the best ways for an author to gain fans and influence people. Write a blog and you can razzle-dazzle ‘em with your writing acumen, your rapier wit, and your broad encyclopedic knowledge of farm animals and the like.

 So blogging is on my should list. Only, each and every time I sit to write my little blog ditty, I begin to bite my fingernails to nubs. Maybe hate is the wrong word. It would be more accurate to say I dread blogging.  I dread it because most of the time I haven’t a clue what to blog about.

            I write fiction. Writing fiction is easy because I get to make stuff up. Blogging is hard because blogs are supposed to be garnered from real life. My real life is about as interesting as watching grass grow.  I mean, sure, I have my moments. Just last week I found a quarter on the sidewalk in front of the grocery store. And yesterday, a missing sock was mysteriously found attached to the bed sheet.

            But, most of the time, my life isn’t that interesting. Don’t get me wrong, I prefer my intense dramas to be imaginary and on the page. Life is much easier if you’re not living inside a Lifetime movie of the week. It makes for tough going if you’re trying to come up with a blog topic, though.

            I will no doubt continue to slog forth on my blogging journey, continue to try and find interesting topics that will wow my blog visitors. Next week, I’m planning a blog on how finding change on the sidewalk can add up to cup a coffee in no time. Hope you’ll stop by!

Insecure Writer: OMG it's in print!

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I worry about many things—the health and well being of my family, running out of money and having to live in a refrigerator box, whether or not the tiny spot on my wrist is a bug bite or something that will require amputation.  This week I have something new to worry about; my romantic comedy P-Town Queen has been released.  P-Town is meant to be funny. Writing funny means taking risks—the biggest risk being that others will view me as crazy.

            To write well, be it comedy or something more serious, you need to push boundaries. You need to ride hard and fast into uncharted territory with little thought to what the mailman or the barista at Starbucks will think of you. That’s not always easy to do. In the confines of your writer’s garret, locked away from the world, you can manage it. But then the wonderful terrible thing happens: you get published. All those words come out of the dark garret into the light. You’ve been exposed. The mailman and the barista will know you're just a few bucks and fender bender from complete lunacy. You feel like you have to change your name and address.

From now on, if anyone asks, I’m Mary Smith. 

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The Insecure Writer: I'm Good Enough, I'm Smart Enough and Doggone It.....

I'm channeling Stuart Smalley today. You remember Stuart, the Al Franken character from Saturday Night Live who sat in front of the mirror and did affirmations?

My mirror image is tired of me. "I'm a writer," I tell her. "I'm a good writer. I'm funny. I can be profound. And darn it all, readers love me."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she says. "You're a writer. Yada, yada, yada. Stop staring at me and go write something already."

"Write something? Like, now?"

"Why not now?"

"Well...I'm not being visited by the muse."

"Not the muse thing again. What happened to 'just do it'?"

 "I don't know if I can. I mean, have you seen what I've written lately? It looks like somebody threw up on it. It makes no sense. The sentences don't go together. The spelling, well we all know I can't spell. It's dull as yesterday's socks. And the words, when I read them out loud they sound like the drill at the dentist's office. It'll never match up to the last book. Now, that was a good book. This..."

My mirror image sighs. She's got better things to do. She could be flossing her teeth. Or examining the tiny mole at her hairline. What is that thing anyway? Should we have it looked into?

I walk away. She's right. I should write already.


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