Writing a blog isn’t as glamorous as a lot of people think. I try to think of interesting things to write about, but I’ve been in a creative desert recently. Funny stories come and go. Many aren’t ripe for the telling.
Sometimes, I read the comments in my spam folder and I chuckle (or cry) that my post “When Seagulls Recline at Table” is so popular. I look up the profiles of the characters “following” my blog and laugh (or weep) that some of my “followers” are spammers, writing from content farms in their mother’s basement. I don’t understand why they don’t just take a book and type random sentences from it instead of using their content generation software to create nonsensical “comments.” I found the following in an old book of some repute:
“She decided that next summer when she was working in the garden she would chop off one of her toes with a hoe. It would seem like an accident.”
Wouldn’t that be better than “I was going to write a similar post but you beat me to it. Posts like this are what make the Internet great. Thanks for sharing.”
Did I mention I’m tired a lot? I haven’t taken a decent nap in a long time. I’m happy to report, though, that one of my friends, on an adventure somewhere in the Northwest, sent me a confessional note the other day:
“Mostly, I seem to be just hanging out and resting. Lots of naps, reading, meandering down the dirt road, and going into town for lattes and huckleberry scones.”
I suppose I could write about the infamy of electric toothbrushes (or when a gift becomes a burden), why I’m never going to have my nails painted with shellac polish again, or what to do when dog has a slip and fall at your house (do not call your insurance company).
One bright speck of light on the horizon…I took a Sunday drive out to the intersection of nowhere and found a quaint little lunch spot. I had a divine bowl of split green pea soup, seasoned with bacon instead of a ham bone. It was a surprising delight in an otherwise foggy fatigue.
It gave new meaning to the bumper sticker “visualize whirled peas.”
Julie-Ann Baumer 
You know, the intersection of Nowhere means there are at least three different roads to take from there.
Harder to walk whichever one you choose, though, without toes. accident or otherwise.
Writing isn’t glamorous at all—it’s a point I work hard to dispel each time I teach a group of writing students enamored by their romantic notions about the craft. Sometimes writing becomes a grind like other so-called “creative” endeavors. More often than not, it’s just plain work, like all other paid labor.
I am encouraged to read the following:
“One bright speck of light on the horizon…I took a Sunday drive out to the intersection of nowhere and found a quaint little lunch spot. I had a divine bowl of split green pea soup, seasoned with bacon instead of a ham bone. It was a surprising delight in an otherwise foggy fatigue.”
Sometimes for me, a way through dry spells has been getting out into the highways and byways that you mention. It’s what has always served me well when trying to “find a story.” The walking of the neighborhoods in researching my latest in the Portland Phoenix (and my Explore features for the S-J) is what makes me different than many young j-school grads who think you write articles from the safety of your walled office, with occasional emails sent out to “sources.”
Not that you need my advice, but I think a revival of installments of “Lady Alone Traveler” might be just what the doctor ordered.
Thank you, Jim, for your comment. I was out walking the neighborhoods of Lisbon Falls tonight and who should drive by but Slipper Sistah, on her way to an overnight shift at the Bean Factory. Perhaps what you’re really saying is “move it or lose it.”
Indeed!