Sometimes, it’s hard for me to believe I’ve been writing this blog since 2012. I’ve written over one thousand (1,000) posts. It seems like such a lot, although my brother has been at this blogging thing for much longer than me.
I didn’t know quite what I was doing in the beginning, but I relied on the wisdom of high school English teachers to guide me. I’d write, read, re-read and edit.
Lately, blogging has been challenging. I’ve struggled with ideas and how to present them. I know that many people don’t read deeply anymore; if you’re reading this post on your i-Phone, this content may not even be displayed. If I didn’t “hook” you into reading my first two sentences, you may never see what I write next.
This is the truncated world.
Then, there’s the notion that this blog should generate some income. There are many ways to monetize things on the internet. I haven’t found a way, although my commitment to regular writing here has helped me get paid to write occasional articles in the local paper. Not much. When I add up the hours, it calculates to about the minimum wage.
Some people think writing is glamorous.
Writing a book still seems glamorous. I’m not a fiction writer; that much I know. And I don’t think my own life story is interesting enough for a first-personal narrative or memoir. But other men and women have lived interesting lives and their stories are as yet, untold.
Do some research, cobble it together, write and rewrite.
So that’s what I’ve been thinking about while I’ve been on “blog vacation.” That and I haven’t made “dinner” for Handy in a while. The lawn needs mowing and my tomatoes need to be staked. There’s a garden tour in the Augusta area on Saturday calling my name, too.
I could write a book.