[Insert opening line about how hard blogging is, especially if you’re holding down a full time occupation, blah blah blah.]
While whatever that opening line is may read true, the other more solid truth is that I belabour the craft of writing ad nauseam. Sometimes, it’s crippling. It need not be. But on top of that obsession with craft, fold in a thick layer of fear of vulnerability, stir in some serious impostor syndrome and a pinch of ‘no-one-will-care’ and you have the dish that has kept me off this blog. It has kept me off many blogs.
None of this stuff is logical. Of course I know that writing this blog has never had anything to do with other people but me. It’s always been about having my own soapbox on which to express, vent, muse, contemplate, discuss, soundboard, examine… my own thoughts and conceptions of the world and how I place in it.
I also know that vulnerability is good for me. Thank you feminism.
I also know that I am good. Good enough. I have packaged many a thought for clients, colleagues, family and friends, and placed many of them in leading publications. The faculty of language is not the problem here.
The reasons why I neglected this blog are not rational.
The problem is me. Writing scares me. The first person who officially mentored me in writing always inferred that the feeling of fear is right, and that my role is to push through it and put something out. Anything. Without being too grandiose, that mine is to be the conduit for the words I bear, because words tend to have a life of their own. They (my mentor) said to me that I should write everyday, and exercise the muscle. On anything. And everything. To just do it, and put words to paper.
It’s hard. It’s hard especially when the muse is not present. The muse, for me, is the burning thought. Esperanza Spalding said on the podcast What It Takes from the Academy of Achievement, that to be a musician, one must practise even when inspiration does not strike. She said that one must practise to sharpen the skill, because one day, when the muse arrives, the skill will be so well sharpened that the act will come easy. I translated that to the craft of writing, to mean that one must practise the skill of writing, which in this case is the faculty of language; finding the right words to convey thoughts. Because when the muse strikes, when that burning thought insists to be examined, express, set free, discussed, engaged… writing will come as easy and be as delicious as spreading soft butter on fresh bread. I may have embellished a little with the bread analogy there. It’s all Oprah’s fault, because I love bread!
So, I fell. My last blog post was on May 22, 2017. About one month and twelve days shy of a year today. I feel pathetic. Disappointed in myself. I also feel a little shame. That’s ok though. I feel determined. I think that’s more important. So, for the umpteenth time I will pick my face from the floor, and do this.
Hello world, I am back.