I've been a negligent blogger lately, but I have an excellent reason; I am writing a book.
In March, I enrolled in a memoir writing workshop with Laurie Lico Albanese, a writer whose work I greatly admire. Her memoir Blue Suburbia made a great impression on me; while the particulars of her story are different, the emotional terrain was very familiar. And so when the opportunity to study with her arose, it was not hard to say yes. It was most worthwhile experience, and one of the best things I've done for my writing.
For a time, I was able to make blogging and memoir writing dovetail. But for me, blogging is about the present, whereas for memoir, I must revisit the past. The more I immersed myself in memoir, the more the paths diverged. With about 90 minutes a day for writing, I reached a point where I could not give both the attention they deserved, and so I decided to take a break from blogging for the duration of the class.
And while I missed blogging, I also dreaded my return. In my imagination, there is a blogging muscle, and the more time elapsed, the more I let that muscle atrophy. To be sure, strange, funny, wildly amusing things are happening every day, but my worry is what if I have forgotten how to find the creative hook, and mine their storytelling potential. As with any creative endeavor, the more you blog, the more ideas you have. There was a time when I had such a lengthy list of ideas for posts that I couldn't keep up with them. For me, blogging is very timely, and when I look at that list of ideas now, they no longer seem relevant. And enough time has elapsed that the new ideas aren't coming as easily.
In my absence my readership may have dropped into negative numbers, but if you are out there, I hope you will bear with me as I try to get my rhythm back.