I sometimes feel that my blog has been woefully neglected. That is an exaggeration, of course; I’ve posted several entries per month for the past 13 years, including weekly Nurturing Thursday entries. Also, I have three ongoing multi-part stories, with reasonably clear ideas of what comes next in each of them.
Instead of composing my own stories, though, I’ve spent much more time reading fiction by other writers lately. I crave the distraction from a “real world” that seems increasingly unreal with every passing day. Sometimes, I feel almost as if I’ve gone back to childhood, when I would literally shut myself in a cupboard with a storybook after coming home from the confusion of elementary school.
“And that is a problem how?” My imaginary future self, Kass, appeared in the comfy oversized chair where I’d been about to sit. She sprawled insolently with her head tipped back across one armrest and her feet dangling over the other.
“Well, it’s a blog, right?” I frowned at the question. “So, I’m supposed to feel motivated to fill it with stories, insightful essays on modern times, cheerful photos of stuff around my house, or something.”
Kass made a rude noise. “Yeah, whatever. When will you learn to quit overloading yourself with silly social expectations? There’s no need to do anything with the blog except have fun with it—and invite me for visits, natch. As for photos, here’s one of your pink turtle friend, exploring your desk.”
I had to smile at her choice of images. The little pink turtle, one of my daughter’s crochet projects, had been decorating my desk for months, giving me a cheerful start to my workdays.
“Thanks, Kass. I’m feeling better now.”
“Good deal.” She grinned widely. “I’ll vacate your chair now, so that you can relax with a good book, feeling productive for having a new blog post. Always happy to help.”
