I’m not sure if I made it farther than most first-timers, or if I caved early, but here it is—the inevitable blog about not blogging. It’s kind of like when I got a journal in fourth grade and decided I would write in it every night, but that only lasted for about two weeks. I still have that journal, though. While it’s mostly empty, it’s a nice little slice of life. I’m not sure I could handle reading more than two weeks’ worth today, since what pissed me off in the fourth grade induces a great deal of eye rolling. I was petty. But cute.
I’m not going to stress about not writing. The truth is I COULD have written, but I just didn’t feel like it. I spent some time analyzing why. Working as a forensics coach, taking on some extra work duties—but these aren’t excuses. I have twenty different blog topics on hold, some of them nearly ready to go that would have only taken twenty minutes to set up, but I didn’t do it. Sometimes you just gotta roll with what feels right, and sometimes writing doesn’t feel right.
No excuses; I didn’t write because I didn’t want to.
I came out of the gate fast, though. Writing, blogging, finishing two novels and reading a ton. The slowdown seems natural. It’s kind of like when you’re really ravenous. It’s hard to pace yourself when you sit down in front of an extra cheese extra garlic pizza. Then you eat so much so fast you feel sick afterward and you swear you’ll never do it again. You’re reminded of it every time you burp garlic. But you always go back.
I read all of those twitter links to articles from writers about how you need to write every day, find a routine, blah blah blah and so on and so forth. It nearly creates guilt or self-loathing, where the thought comes to mind, “Boy, I really should sit down and write something new.”
It’s really stupid to think that way when my next paycheck isn’t based on what I blog, or even what I write. That’s not to say I don’t take writing seriously. Even pro-athletes have an off-season. Maybe there’s a time to grind, and a time to do it every single day, but I’m too old for grinding. In a good way. I’m an adult, and sometimes I have to remind myself that as an adult, I can think for myself and do what I want.
So every time I had the thought that I should be writing, I’d remind myself that I was in charge and I could do whatever the hell I wanted. How often have you heard the advice, If you wait for the perfect time, the perfect time will never come? There might never be the perfect time—that part might be true—but their certainly is a right time. Or a write time. And for me, that happened to finally be at 1:55 PM on Tuesday, May 10, 2016.
So suck it, all you Twitter writers with your rules and routines and good advice. I can do what I want.