It’s a little dysfunctional, this business of killing off my blog once or twice a year, just so I can revive it.
I love a challenge.
But I loathe dishonesty. The fact is, it has taken me nearly two decades to grudgingly agree with a blog post I read in the late 1990s, likening blogging to self-indulgent, introspective navel-gazing. The thought that skipped right past that conclusion and onto the bullet train to blogging burnout was, “Who the hell wants to read the lint-pickings from my bellybutton?” They were so deadly dull, so repetitive, I didn’t even want to expend the energy to type them up, anymore. Commentary on the newsworthy events of the day? Not really in the mood to sprinkle outrage like salt, chew memes, and regurgitate logic, today. I blew 20,000,000 invisible BTUs into my imaginary hot air balloon and drifted away, leaving the sky to the professional commentators.
Depression is an insidious, creeping thing with tendrils that take hold in a brain like ivy on crumbling, stucco walls. In my case, it’s more like root rot than drama. There’s nothing “wrong.” Honestly. It’s not a deep, dark howling abyss. Just a rusted give-a-damn missing a crank shaft, or something. It growls, but refuses to roar back to life. I’m bored of myself. I’m bored of people. Not you, Dear Reader – I could never tire of you. But I am oh-so-weary of that amorphous, amoeba-like entity known as “people.” And I cannot escape its gel-like pull; I, too, am “people.” A bit of goo, just helping to hold the whole intact, no more or less interesting than the rest of the goo. But to write, a writer needs to see the individuals drops in all their iridescent glory – to be able to pull the sweet and brittle threads from the thick-headed mass like a candy maker.
But I don’t want to turn up the flame, either.
And oddly, I can be a very happy depressed person. I’ve been having a fun year, so far. A really good year! Maybe it’s just my “Muse” who’s depressed. Or pouting. Feeling neglected and ignored. “Don’t feel like writing? Fine. See if I care. No words for you.” She sulks in the corner, plucking cobwebs from her scowl.
“Whatever.” I revel in the silence. I listen to other people’s music.
“You could make shit up with the best of them,” she whispers, sucking a spider’s toes.
“If I were evil…”
“No, no, no.” She stands, her red hair flaming. “It’s only fiction that lets us tell the real truths,.” Green eyes flashing, she extends a hand and offers me a spider.
“Shhhh,” I hiss, stepping back. “I just want to lie a while.”
“Suit yourself. If you can.” She pops the spider into her mouth, and I hear the unmistakable crunch of words.
A WhatsApp conversation between Write Tribers about the need to kick start our sluggish blogs led to Ishieta saying that our blogs have become Zombies. Which in turn led to my suggesting a “Revive the Zombie Blog” challenge. Corinne suggested the prompt ‘6 Months in 2019 and I…’ and we knew that we had to act fast, before the shambling horde devoured our resolve. There are 24 of us participating, and it will be spread over 3 days – 17, 18, 19 June 2019. You’ll begin to see the links, below, as new posts are added.
I did not feel like doing a retrospective on my 2019 resolutions, and so I began work on a short story that’s been flapping its tiny wings against the inside of my skull for a while.