Part of writing a blog, perhaps the hardest part of writing a blog, is coming up with stuff to write about every week. It should be something entertaining, insightful maybe, thought provoking hopefully. But mostly, any idea will do, and I guess I’m lucky that this morning is the first morning I’m a bit stumped.
I could write about the beginning of school, how it marks the start of autumn, except that in Florida it’s still about 95 degrees so I have trouble conjuring thoughts of pumpkin picking and fresh pressed apple cider.
I could write about what happens when a writer writes “The End” after the last sentence of a first draft, but the only thing to write about that event is to say that any writer who thinks that is an ending is most likely wrong. It simple marks the beginning of about 120 rewrites.
I could write about flying into New York City a few months after selling my book, looking up from the Harlan Coben novel I was reading to see the Statue of Liberty and starting to hyperventilate because it finally occurred to me that other people, strangers, would be reading my book one day soon. But I still don’t like to think too much about that fact so I’ll save that blog for another day.
Or I could write about playing tennis with twelve-year-old Daughter this weekend and about the sore muscles I have this morning, which are nothing compared to my bruised ego. Or I could write about how hard it is for me to keep my mouth closed now that Daughter is writing a blog of her own for school. She insists that Teacher said parents aren’t allowed to help. Teacher confirmed that at Back to School Night.
I could write about any of those things, but instead I’ll write this being the hardest part—trying to decide what to write and what comes next. Perhaps that is why writing “The End” after the last sentence of first draft feels so darn good. No more trying to decide what comes next.