How Many Times a Week Do You Do It?

January 20, 2009 at 6:28 pm Leave a comment

I have committed the bloggers’ sin of not blogging every day. Or even every week. But why not blog only when I feel like it or have something to say? After all, it’s not my job, it’s supposed to be for fun, and despite a lucky few being able to “monetize” their blogs, there’s a brain cells’ chance in Bush’s head that I’ll be one of them.

Do you really want to read every piece of crap that passes through my head? I don’t even want to, but I’m me, and I don’t have a choice. If you do, I’d be glad to provide you with one of millions of self-serving, narcissistic piece of undistilled stream-of-consciousness material that’s so intimate, long, and sometimes boring, you’ll want to get away from me after a while, too.

Yes, I have done the exact same thing in my podcasts (www.robertagale.com) but at least there’s a bit of entertainment value in listening (or watching) someone spit out their stuff in real time-the train wreck theory. I don’t know if I have the capacity to be that riveting in print.

By it’s very nature, blogging is supposed to be stream-of-consciousness-unedited, unfettered, and free, like that guy in Paris that Joni Mitchell sings about. But I spent a career doing that on the radio. I wanted something a bit more polished on my blog. Sort of like “real” writing that I  look at a little while later and change stuff around, or even cut it out entirely if it would make the piece better. The problem is, it took so much time to write and rewrite a post before I published it, that my blog became more of a homework assignment than a creative diversion. So I stopped adding posts. I didn’t even want to go to my blog site because it would just depress me.

And so much has happened since I last posted. I started my first traditional job in years (ok, it’s a temp job, but the last time I had one, Kelly Services was called Kelly Girls,) developed compassion and disgust for people who work on their feet all day for $8.50 an hour, learned everything there is to know about college students, am in the midst of an existential crisis as I watch my beloved terrestrial radio careen down techo mountain in a ball of flames, and other stuff, like learning to spell inauguration.

So I will temper my need to immediately express every crumb of my personal experiences that I always interpret as a microcosm of what’s going on in the universe at large, with my desire to write an edited, pithy, meaningful, humorous and/or profound piece that someone other than myself might want to print.

Toodles and luv ya!

Roberta

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I swear (or affirm) I will sell stuff Back with the Wind

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