No, no. Not that kind of backed up. I have a few limits on what I’ll publish.
My constipation is of the blog post variety. I had hoped to focus more on writing after I completed the site redesign, but it’s been the opposite. Granted, I’ve been busy for the past two weeks (or should I say fortnight?), watching people wearing white whack the stuffing out of a little yellow ball over and over. But still. As I ruefully said to Dave, “I wonder if anyone else ever redesigned their blog and then never updated it again.”
Are you familiar with Meat Beat Manifesto? This song usually makes me feel very drugged, but now reminds me of Logy Express’ silence.
The jackass who put this on YouTube cut off the end, and I considered making my own video that plays the whole thing, but that is exactly the kind of unnecessary perfectionism that stops me from completing posts. So just imagine 25 seconds of very real and silent silence at the end of this song. 25 seconds is longer than you think.
But, as I started off by saying, I’m backed up and that’s part of the problem. My post ideas were so scattered that I took a few hours to consolidate them recently. I triangulated the ideas entered into my electronic to do list, several draft Word files, and shitloads of paper notes:
|Whole pieces of paper||
|Scraps of paper||
|Back of receipts||
|Back of envelopes||
Now I have one master list of 74 blog post ideas (but still no idea what to write next). It’s a smorgasbord of crap (not unlike my closet–stuffed with clothes I won’t wear). Typing of crap, here’s a critical FYI: if you’re looking for some totally craptastic (in a good way) blog reading, check out Speaker7’s ongoing summary of 50 Shades of Grey. It starts here and is the funniest set of blog posts I’ve ever read.
Here are some post ideas I’ve mentioned in the somewhat recent past as being in the pipeline: review the brownie fantasy bars I made for National Family PJ Night, develop my own signature cupcake recipe, write about organizing my basement, write about digitizing 150 years worth of family photos, write more about my study abroad experience, train Pandora to find new music, and follow-up on my 2012 goals (including my plan to run faster).
Does any of the above bite you on the ass? Or should I just write the post about Brazilians I’ve had rolling around in my head for weeks (strike that bit earlier about having limits)?
In other news, a memoir piece I wrote (an expansion my cringe-worthy first kiss post) got accepted by a literary review. This was extremely gratifying given how much time I spent working on my submission, including a fiction piece I ended up scrapping. It got too unwieldy for the 1,500 word limit and didn’t make much sense when I tried to cut it down. But writing the fiction sort of lit a fire under my ass (in a fun way) and I have half a mind to finish it and post it in stages here.
Lastly, I have a very important announcement! I finally drew a winner in the re-subscriber giveaway. I had joked about how long it took Dave to re-subscribe and also that he was ineligible for the giveaway. But of course, I forgot to remove him from the list before drawing a winner, and he frigging won. I’m not giving my husband a prize for subscribing to my blog.
When I drew another random number, the beautiful and talented Angie of Childhood Relived won the prize. As much as I’d like to reward her with ice cream, I don’t think shipping ice cream in a heat wave that melted the airport tarmac is such a good idea. So an Amazon gift card it is! Now the question is: will Angie want to tell me her address just to get an Amazon gift card? I can almost hear Angie weighing her options now (…gift card…having a potential crazy person know where I live…gift card…).
I’m grateful that so many of you stuck around through the move to self-hosting (a land where any day I’m likely to press a button and accidentally blow this thing to smithereens). If you’re ever in the D.C. area (or live here), let me know and I’ll hook you up with some homemade ice cream. And if you’re really lucky, the airport will let you leave.