I've cut back on blogging. Have you missed me?

I’ve cut back on blogging to focus on one specific human interest story:  the story of my memoir. 

When I do post, it will be much more personal than my previous blogs, and that scares me. But if I’m going to put my memoir out into the world, I’d better get used to it, right?

 

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What I’ve learned in a year of blogging

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On October 13, 2016, with a deep breath, a prayer, and a mix of trepidation and pride, I hit “publish,” sending my first blog out into the great beyond.

Blogosphere, here I come. 

I’ve written 48 posts since then. It’s been the hardest professional challenge I’ve faced and there’s no paycheck on Fridays. The compensation has been in personal growth. I could fill a book, but instead I’ll give you some snippets on what I’ve learned:

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The muses in my head.

I recently had the pleasure of meeting my writing muses—my sources of (or against) inspiration. They’re distinct voices in my head which I didn’t know existed until they revealed themselves to me one at a time.

Don’t worry, I don’t need to call my therapist. 

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Keep your eyes open to the little things. Avoiding a thankless marriage.

Years ago, I sat across a table from my new husband as we enjoyed a night out on our honeymoon. As we waited for our food to arrive, the wait staff appeared, singing Happy Anniversary, and delivered a cake with a single flaming candle to the couple at the next table.

Michael and I looked at each other with wide-eyed awe and said, almost in unison, “Wow. A whole year.”

It was hard to fathom being married for a year. Now, it’s been 35.

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This time, I will take a stand.

Over 30 years ago, when I worked in Washington, D.C., I took the Metro to work. It’s always crowded on a subway during rush hour, and you get used to being jostled by people, bodies crammed together. But one morning on the platform, I thought a man purposefully touched my butt with his hand. I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure. But then I watched the nicely dressed middle-aged man as he walked through the crowd, hands at his sides. As he passed several women, he distinctly turned his hand out to brush their back sides.

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Acceptance. I’m working on it but not yet there.

I wrote so much last week, I think the writing center in my brain is fried. 

Not all of my writing appears on my blog, but between my regularly scheduled blog, a bonus blog, an op-ed, working on my memoir (here’s an earlier scene) and some pieces that I sent to online publications, I’ve been busy. And my brain is worn out.

I’ve worked on at least seven blog topics so far this week, but I can’t get any of them to gel. Here’s a few that I’ll have for you someday:

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    The thrill of realization: I am a writer.​​​​​​​

    This morning, as soon as I wake up, I stumble down the stairs and into the kitchen. The newspaper is sitting on the counter. Michael must have brought it in before he left for his early morning bike ride. But the paper isn’t open. Did he not see my article? Is it not in there?

    I open the paper and flip through to find the Perspective section. Darn, didn’t make the front page there. 

    I open to page two of Perspective, holding my breath just a little, hoping not to be disappointed. 

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    My six-word memoir.

    Several years ago, I was listening to Morning Edition on NPR as usual while I got ready for work. Still in my blue fleece robe, nursing my second cup of coffee and putting on make-up, I heard a story about a six-word memoir project.

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