Tag Archives: writing

Writing about nothing

OK, so my blogging has been a tad slack recently. Actually, my blog has been ignored recently, and not just by me…but that’s another story.

There are several reasons for this sorry state of affairs, but here’s the reason that’s causing the most trouble:

I write another blog, for money.

No, it’s not one of those “I tried this miracle weight loss cure and lost 250 pounds in 6 weeks” blogs. It’s a crochet blog, and mostly what i write about is….well, not much of anything.

I have one blog post and I just repeat it over and over and over and over and you get the general idea. Here’s the post:

Here’s a crochet pattern. Here’s the yarn and hook you need. Here’s a video that shows you how to do it. If you liked this one, here’s a link to another one. Bye! Oh, and look at the pretty pictures.

That’s it. I’m supposed to be doing this for about 20 hours per week but it doesn’t take that long to write the same post 8 times and change the links. I’ve already written the posts for this week. Five of them are about, ahem, flip-flops. Yep, how to crochet around the bands of flip-flops, five different ways.

There’s a link to the crochet blog on this page. Click it, I dare you!


At least the blog is written using WordPress, just like this one, so I haven’t forgotten how to blog. There’s another one that I write for the same company that’s over on Blogger.com. I hate that site. It’s not as user-friendly as this one and I don’t spend a lot of time over there so I’m always forgetting how to do things. Whatever.

So, what is really going on right now is that I’m moving toward full-blown panic. Alecto and Cletus and Kate and I are going to Mudderella in Virginia in September. I am in no way, shape or form able to do this. I started walking every day around Memorial Day and was up to 3 miles a day. Then Wubby got sick and I took him to the doctor and he shared his germs with me. It took about 48 hours for the virus to hit. Hard. Acute bronchitis. And after about five days Hubby caught it too. Kate has remained as far away from us as possible and has so far been unscathed. But it’s a nasty, mean virus.

It’s been 2 weeks and Kate and I went for a walk this morning. 1.5 miles, through Old Salem. And I didn’t cough up a lung and I didn’t die, which is a good thing. Because on Thursday Hubby and I are going camping for the weekend and have a 4 mile uphill hike planned.

Hopefully I can get back on track with the training thing. I’m not sure I will be able to run 5 miles and jump through hoops come September. But I can walk 5 miles fast and see how many hoops I can jump through.

And as long as we’re talking about getting back on track, I really should spend more time here because it’s therapeutic and I definitely need some therapy and this therapy is cheap, as in, free. Free is good, I like free.

I’ve learned that good blog posts have pretty pictures on them. This post needs a pretty picture.

buzzard rock

I’m going hiking here soon, not this weekend but soon.



Walking in this World

Got an email from an old friend last week. He’s getting ready to facilitate a “Walking in this World” group. WitW is a book by Julia Cameron. She wrote it about 10 years after her defining work, “The Artist’s Way.” I did the AW experience in fall of 2003 and it was quite an eye-opener for me. Several of us felt like we needed to repeat the course, or attend an “AW for Dummies” version or something. Well, here’s my chance. WitW starts in March. The premise is simple: we are all creative beings, built with a desire to create inherent to our very natures, put there by the ultimate Creator. Julia proposes that those of us who used to be very in tune with our creative nature because disillusioned or frustrated or just plain afraid to “put it all out there for everyone to see”, sort of hiding our lamp under a basket. She says a lot of things that make sense, and it’s easy to think about reconnecting to that creative side of ourselves, of myself, but it’s much more difficult to actually do the work.

It’s true. Doing the actual work of reconnecting with the creative self is scary. You have to be willing to start over, to be a rank beginner again, to possibly learn to do things differently than you used to, or even to do something totally different than what you used to do. I had that experience in AW. I walked in as a non-playing musician. I left 12 weeks later a fledgling writer, leaving several stupefied classmates behind, folks who could not believe that I was in reality a computer geek, and not a writer or actress or lounge singer or something. Go figure.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking the last couple of years, of wondering what I’m meant to be or do. And I don’t have any answers. I read blogs and first novels and poetry and then look at what I might have to say about, well, anything, and think to myself that I have absolutely nothing worthwhile to say about anything. My life is not about self-sustaining agriculture, or the size of my carbon footprint, or how my career gives me the opportunity to travel and see and do things that I wouldn’t have otherwise. Right now, today, my life is about trying to get my 18-year-old son to grow up, to be independent, and responsible, and trustworthy. And it’s about helping my daughter realize that it’s ok to be a tomboy without giving up being a girl, and that it’s ok to get frustrated and say no to people when they intrude on her privacy or try to take advantage of her generosity. And it’s about helping teenagers trust adults when they’ve lost the ability to trust their parents for whatever reason. Just everyday, ordinary things.

And my life has become focused on creating useful things, like socks that fit my feet perfectly because I made them to do that.

None of these things are earth-shattering. The future of our planet does not hang by a thread of anything I’m trying to weave together to make that thread stronger. And for that reason, I feel silenced by this writing. What difference is there in my choosing to record the mundane experiences of living in rural/suburban central North Carolina in 2008? If I’m not doing anything to fit into the media and political mold of world change, why do anything at all?

Do I really want to walk in this world?

I don’t know.