Looking back at my first months of writing this blog I can see how life changes have shifted my focus. I was less careful with my grammar and word choice, more enthralled with telling stories. There seemed an unlimited number of topics to cover and I worked diligently each day on several posts; composing, editing, scrapping some. They were more photojournalist and less thoughtful, though they were true to the theme of: Therapeutic Misadventures while recreating yourself after 55.
Unemployment and a naïve sense of comfort with my financial situation made it easy to spend entire days searching out adventures, photographing them, and chronicling the results. I had the freedom to feed my addiction to the written word a stable diet of time and energy. Whether the result was worthy of rewards, it resembled being back in school and exploring options and delighting in new challenges. The growth I hope occurred has put me in another place entirely with this daily routine.
I fret at the end of the day, “Do you have a clear thought? A plan? What are you going to write about?? MUST Write!!” The responsible voice in the back of my mind becomes louder and more insistent.
“How can you call yourself a writer or author if you have nothing to say? Just say you manage an Oil and Vinegar store!” It’s no Jiminy Cricket, that voice in my head. No cheery “Let your conscience be your guide!” from this negative troll.
Of the many other blogs I follow, reading and commenting as regularly as I can, there seems a more definite thread, a concrete theme. Marie writes of her walking, life in the UK and her beloved Commando. Allen writes of fungi and plants, climbing and searching for the beauty in small life-forms. Terri and James bring cultures and countries to life with their travel blog. Laura captures the quintessential nature of small New Hampshire towns in her photo blog. Jo writes of her weaving and refurbishing an antique farm. They have all been at this a lot longer and write with a clearly defined goal. I envy that view but fear I’m expert at nothing I would wish to report on regularly.
When asked, “Are you working on another book?” I feel the guilt rise like the blush of embarrassment. There is a draft, there are lots of drafts, but the real answer is No. This blog may feed a chapter in the unwritten memoir but I am not diligently working as I did on the first. For right now I simply follow my heart and this path. As with all adventures, its purpose will be revealed in due time…