I want to write, but without a deadline or structure, my practice gets wiffly. My journal gets used when life gets sucky. Good news is, life has been agreeable lately. Bad news is, I haven’t written as much. So, to encourage myself, I started this blog two months ago with a goal to post every day. It put a structure in front of me that helped me stay on the writing rails.
The world is awash in words. Words meant to inspire, encourage love, espouse hate. Words intended to inform or designed to deceive. Words unrestricted by paper shortages; digitally unlimited.
Bloggers number in the hundreds of millions. Social media allows us to reach out and touch others. How far our reach goes depends on whether or not what we have to say resonates for others and how good our marketing is.
I’ve joined that blogging world. Twice.
I started my first blog, Pursuing Podcasts, last year. It was about podcasts. About other peoples’ work and thoughts. It continues to exist, albeit lightly used.
My second blog, Walk the Goats, I started on March 1, 2018. This year. Fifteen days ago. Walk the Goats is about my thoughts, thoughts from my inner landscape.
I write about things Bubba and I talk about: relationship stuff; “divine” versus “relative” selves; internal “characters” who show up to deliver their lines and take their positions when they hear their cues. I write about things I think about and want to share, including observations on personal growth and life and aging and random other stuff.
I want to share my writing with Bubba. And what I want from him is supportive enthusiasm that I’m writing. I don’t want suggestions for how I might write something different or better.
It’s not because I think my work is brilliant and doesn’t need editing.
It’s because writing and sharing my work scares the living daylights out of me.
And in that place of fear, anything that discourages me feeds the fear. And stops the writing.
Which is why I’m looking for swords of light that encourage the what of what I’m doing–writing–rather than the skill with which I do it.
The thing is, when I share my writing with Bubba, I’m also sharing it with his mother, Jan.