Jealousy should best describe my blog right about now—if it had any feelings. My preoccupation with another major writing project (a novel) means I’ve shifted my blog to occasional musings and reposts of poetry.
Even I find myself worrying about my neglectful ways. I follow several other bloggers who write on a set schedule. They post once or twice a week with diligence. Then I read others who compose and post daily. I did a daily challenge when I first started blogging because writing gave me something to look forward to during the long days of caregiving. I sat with pen and spiral close at hand, scribbled down ideas or wrote short pieces. Some days, a movie or TV episode would capture Mom’s attention for as long as fifteen minutes to half-an-hour. Long enough for me to quickly type up an entry. Some days found me lingering at the keyboard after everyone else went to bed just so I could have a post ready for the next day.
I carry a little guilt with me on the days I abandon my blog for the plotline of the more involved story. I dally all day in riveting dialogue, or playfully wallow in the luxury that comes from creating a longer, more involved piece of writing. I love the new challenge of researching a particular time period and weaving those details into images for potential readers.
I don’t forget my blog. It lingers in the back of my mind. Some life event will occur, and I’ll think, “Oh, I need to write a post about that!” Or one spectacular autumn morning after another greets me, making me long to pen a new poem.
And so today I opened a blank page in Word with the intent of writing something absolutely amazing, or wonderfully witty, or dramatically dazzling. Instead, my mind drifted to the careless disregard I’ve held for my blog, the friend who steadfastly saw me through one of the most difficult times in my life.
And I find myself pledging to spend a little more time with it than an impulsive visit on a lazy morning. I don’t want to turn into that friend who pledges to “get together” but never arranges a visit, who plans lunch out then cancels, or manages forget that rendezvous at a favorite bar for evening drinks. I don’t want to my words to hold empty promises. And so today, I make my intentions clear and known to all (well, all who take time to stop and read). I will take time out at least once a week to visit with my swing in a tree.
Empty, but not abandoned, Swing in a Tree
Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman