Part of my top-secret project hour today was dedicated to blogging because I haven't been doing it on the regular and I want to keep up my discipline. It's occasionally useful to make myself publicly accountable like this. Shame myself into production. It shouldn't work that way, but for me it always has.
The best part is that I have nothing I really want to write about, so I get the fun challenge of creating content out of thin air. Which is like, what proper writers do without whining. I have been feeling particularly creatively alive of late, which is lovely, but harnessing the overall sense is the bitch of it. Oh, that bitch. Sometimes, in order to get there, you've just got to blab it out and make space for the real stuff.
In the history of me writing in a public forum, I wonder how many entries comprise this kind of filler-y fuckitude, or more to the point, if they outnumber the focused, substantive ones. But there's the process. Writing is writing, and writing at all begets more. Lucky lucky youse all, the reading of it is optional.
This coming weekend is going to be a busy one, taking the amount of activity in which we didn't engage the past few laid-back weekends and quadrupling it. It'll be packed with great stuff, maybe blog-worthy, definitely life-worthy. I predict exhaustion when it's all over, but the best kind. And I'm ready to get it started now.
This shaggy shades-wearing gentleman concurs.