It’s Sunday night – one week to the day since my proclamation of becoming a writer, seriously (no, I mean seriously). I have scribbled blog post ideas in my notebook and stared at a blank screen for a week. Tonight is my self imposed deadline for a new post.
Nothing will come of nothing, as King Lear pointed out (although his advice is suspect).
I decided to read other blogs for inspiration. The first post in my feed is from Vincent Mars, one of my favourite bloggers (and actually one of the first I started reading when I started this blog). He writes about the “giving back” of writing, and wonders where we disappear to when we abandon our blogs. His post, On Giving Something Back, resonates for me. So here I am, writing, as I promised I would one week ago.
How to cover the last three years? Life is fragmented. And bloody fast. Blogging won’t be so linear for me now. In the past, I would wake, bolt upright, a full post in my mind. I’d get up and write it all down, guts and all. Now it’s more of an effort (read commitment), and I’m not great with that sort of thing.
“Writing is an act of awakening,” says Mars. When I began blogging, I was, indeed, in a state of awakening, albeit a painful one. So much has happened. I’ll get to that. In many posts, over much time, hopefully with a bit of insight embedded.
For now, here is a short summary/review of what’s happened, in no particular order. Updates are linked.
My brother and I have made amends. It is good. I missed him.
I am officially divorced. Let’s not link back there for now.
I’m no longer in a relationship. I may never be. I am enjoying my curmudgeon-hood. Also, my BUM radar is more highly tuned, I think (Also, I am much better now at formatting WordPress pages).
My mother passed away on December 27, 2016. I’m an orphan now.
I spent one month in the psychiatric ward because of depression and anxiety. Life is much better, but I’m concerned it may have made me less funny.
I’ve had a handful of jobs, which ultimately didn’t go very well for many reasons (posts to follow). There have been adventures, lessons and realizations.
I became a member of a different church from the one I was raised in. It’s not working out so well for me. Shh! Don’t tell anyone!
I believe my taste in clothing has improved (although my opinion about our attitudes toward breasts has not).
I’m more empathetic, as well. I am much better at playing with others.
I wrote haiku professionally for a while. It was most cool.
I still love vinyl, although I’m slightly annoyed that it has made a comeback.
I have things to say about #metoo and its aftermath. Also, #metoo.
So I’m ready now to move forward, another “liar in service of the truth,” as Bruce Springsteen says (and W.O. Mitchell before him). Writers write. So I’m writing. Because I have stories to tell.