Doing The Write Thing

According to a number of writers, it’s good practice (more of a requirement, actually) to force yourself to write every day, whether you have something to say or not. I’m not so sure that that’s a healthy approach for someone who posts stuff on a blog, stuff that is generally (at least loosely) related to happenings in their day-to-day life. Sitting and staring at the flashing orange cursor (I type this stuff on a TRS-80 with an 11” monochrome screen – sort of the digital analogue of an author who will only write on a 1943 Royal typewriter) might only serve to force into consciousness the until-now-repressed recognition that your life is pretty goddamned boring.

On the other hand, one might find one’s self typing the words “digital analogue” where one would otherwise not, so if one has a very low bar for defining "accomplishment", that’s a win.

I realized yesterday that I haven’t gone camping this summer (there may have been an early spring trip, but yeah, right, like I’m supposed to remember that far back), due to traveling on most weekends (a practice which has recently become unnecessary). Maybe a trek into the woods will result in a story or two to relate involving an ax murder or stumbling into a fire or getting into a heated argument with a bear over macroeconomic policy or some such thing.

Beats doing nothing, I guess. And anyway, I feel I owe my reader a bit of self-damaging buffoonery, and damnit, I intend to pay that debt. Wish me luck!