My son doesn’t like the word “tapas”. I don’t like the word “blog”. On top of that, I found out I’m doing it all wrong.
The volume of blog coaching resources is staggering. My head hurts. From what I’ve read, I shouldn’t even have breathed the word blog until I had three themes, thirty days worth of “stuff” already written, and gathered abundant images and links. Yikes! My first post took about thirty minutes to create and publish. Bet you could tell.
The issue is…. I’m inclined to analysis paralysis. If I get sucked into the black hole of the “how” right now, nothing will escape. In a perfect world, possibly nothing should escape.
But getting a blog to blast off is kinda like deciding to have kids. You can’t think about it too much or you’ll never get off the patch!
“What, me blog?” I ask myself.
My history is in the practical, pragmatic and humble Mid-west of the USA. My take on people writing blogs was, who the hell cares? Seemed self-indulgent and egotistical. Oops. Turns out that much of what I’ve read is beautiful, intelligent, honest and thought provoking. Damn.
For you who have read either of my now two historic posts – this is the third – it’s probably become painfully clear that:
- I was a science major and
- I’m writing this for me. Self-indulgence and ego gone wild right?
The joy of living and silliness and observation and wisdom and aging. Gracefully. My ass!
Wresting with nonsensical ramblings to condense them to small, digestible kibbles and bits is a challenge. Poets do it so amazingly well! So many ideas, thoughts and feelings packed into the economy of a few words. “There was a young man from Nantucket…..”
The answer is…..my cats. “Blog” is the sound that precedes the appearance of a hairball at our house. Ack.