Yeah, blogging is not my thing, so, surprise, surprise, I can’t keep to any kind of schedule. You know what the problem with me is? My life is boring.
Oh, sure, in retrospect, I’ve done cool things. Had eight novels published. Earned a PhD in Communications. Been part of two radio sketch comedy groups. Taught at a university. Edited a well known magazine. I loved all of it (and so much more), and I’m proud of all of it. But I can’t imagine that the day to day doing of it would interest anybody.
Take today. I wrote about 1,200 towards my new story, the first novella I’ve attempted to write. It was a fun scene: a cat creature is teleported into a dog show. As you might imagine, mayhem ensues. The novella is part of my series of stories that take place at the Canadian National Exhibition which, although I’m loving writing them, there probably isn’t much of an audience for (so far, I’ve had six rejections without an acceptance). This novella is especially useful because it involves students at the Alternaut Academy; the characters and relationships I explore in the story will undoubtedly inform the novel that is set at the Alternaut Academy which is the next long-form fiction on my schedule to write.
Okay, having said it out loud (on my computer screen…smartass), what I accomplished today does sound kind of neat. But it also seems to me to be way insider baseball, of interest to me and a couple of writer friends, maybe, but not anybody else (including my family, but I’ve come to terms with that).
I think the problem is a holdover from the shy days of my youth. I had trouble starting up conversations with people at school or parties because I didn’t believe I had anything to say that could possibly interest them. I consider myself a recovering shy person, but, of course, we never fully leave the patterns of our youth behind, they always find ways of echoing in our behaviour.
Ah, well. I will stick with it. Hope you will, too.