Blog? Which blog? What blog? On being neglectful lately

WordPress has their many ways to encourage blogging and writing. The Daily Post is one of those ways and I know a few of you use that in your blogs. They recently re-offered a 20-day Blogger U writing course and I thought to myself, “Why not?”

It just so happened that the start of this challenging 20 days coincided nicely with the initial post on a new blog I started. I had a secret poetry blog going for awhile. It was really mostly a journal so that I didn’t have to write on paper.

*As an aside, I believe that I may have forgotten how satisfying it can be to put pen to paper after spending so much time composing on the computer for college classes. My fingers feel foreign gripping a pen, and strangely enough, those actions often irritate my arthritis.

Focus once more on the new blog. I took the very specific poetry format and turned it into a more generalized writing blog. The purpose, to write of course, but also to seek out specific links with other writers of all genres. I have always had ideas racing around in my head screaming to be let out, however, and I know I have mentioned this here before, I cannot get beyond some censorship on this blog. It seems to be a combination of you-are-a-mature-woman-with-no-need-to-use-that-language, you-are-a-mom-for-gods-sake, and ewww-who-wants-to-read-about-THAT.

I plunged in, being extremely explicit in my personal essay for the farmy book Celi Gunther just produced in association with her followers group on TheKitchensGarden. As I mentioned to a fellow blogger, I was living in a surreal world apparently at that time, never truly believing that my essay, or possibly the entire book, would really be published for the world to read. That was my surface belief, what I was telling myself so that I could simply set down, let the words flow, write without caring, and hit Send to shoot the essay off to Celi. I was never truly fooling myself. I knew that those words were going to appear in print, and I also knew, after little struggle, that I was going to allow my name to be available to that essay. I could have been anonymous, but deep down there lurked that secret need to be heard and to own my words. So now it’s out there. I am officially noting here a TW (trigger warning) for anyone who reads this blog and who has chosen to purchase this book: my piece is personally sexually explicit. Not gross, not so descriptive that it ranks in the EWWW-mom place, but it is truthful. Read at your own risk. If you have missed this blog post, and are reading the book right now, then none of what I just wrote matters.

Back to my point. The newer blog is where I can write freely, for now, and keep this one as a place for opinion, (Media Monday, Feminist Friday) general rantings and crap, pictures of Miss G and maybe various scenes from my life among other things. If you follow this blog, which is also open to Facebook friends, and are curious about the newer one just ask me. I figure at that point, if you really want to get to know what I think and are brave enough to ask then I will share, although almost certainly not publish that one to Facebook. You can follow by email if you like.

Again, my point here was to note that I have sorely neglected this blog for the last few days. I do have a Feminist Friday post set to go, but starting up and refining the new space, plus jumping into the Daily Post writing challenge, is taking up a lot of time. It is however, helping me to focus on ideas and places to take my writing. Once the challenge is over I hope that I can find a good balance between both blogs.

Oh, and a surprise! Friday I head off for a personal weekend. It is really connected with a modest, almost-annual tradition of taking a short vacation -alone- right around my birthday. So on Friday, we are off the the beach. Nothing hot and tropical, simply back out to that little seaside community the daughter and I stayed at last spring. This time around I have a small cabin and plan to read, work on the writing challenge, drink wine, write, run some ideas onto paper, drink some more wine, write more and just stare into the landscape on my personal front porch.

If you want to come along I can pack you in my bag, as long as you don’t mind being surrounded by feminist literature, Margaret Atwood, and some nice Vinho Verde.


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