So I’m back. It’s been a while – well over a year – since a new post appeared on this blog. Hell, it’s been almost a
year since this blog was even visible. Life – and hackers – happened, and since I’m totally reliant on my husband’s good graces and computer abilities and persistence to finally rescue this blog, I’ve spent a long time away.
Instead of writing about writing and PR, I’ve been spending my time teaching it. I’ve found that teaching writing is so much more difficult than actually doing it. It’s much more fun to critique others than to do the heavy lifting of writing yourself. And especially after the break of more than a year. So I’ve been sitting here for well over an hour, hiding behind my oversized mug of coffee and trying to avoid the moment when fingers meet keys.
The hardest part of blogging is thinking of something to write about. It’s not for lack of ideas, rather the opposite. How to pick just one of the things that pop into my head on a constant basis? I spend a lot of time staring at a blank screen, usually muttering things under my breath that my mother wouldn’t approve of. So in honor of the rebirth of this blog, procrastinating writers everywhere, and to mark the 400th anniversary of William Shakespeare’s death, here’s a couple of classic insults from the god of English writing to use the next time you’re stuck for inspiration:
“I am sick when I do look on thee.” From A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act II, Scene I
“Thou art a boil, a plague sore.” From King Lear, Act II, Scene II
“Thou elvish-mark’d, abortive rooting hog!” From Richard III, Act I, Scene III
Stalling and insults only work for so long, though. Getting back in the writing habit is going to be tough. Not that I don’t write normally, but that’s work writing. Writing for me, writing for the sheer pleasure of it, now that’s going to take a bit of effort to get back into the habit. So it’ s going to take baby steps to redevelop the habit. So for now, it’s enough to say, “I’m back!” Or, as the Bard himself said so much better in a different Comedy of Errors,
“Return’d so soon! Rather approached too late: the capron burns, the pig falls from the spit, the clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell; my mistress made it one upon my cheek: she is hot because the meat is cold; the meat is cold because you have no stomach, you have no stomach, having broke your fast; but we, that know what ’tis to fast and pray, are pentent for your default today.”