I'll make this short (unlike the rest of my entries).
When you're a writer, who writes a lot of things and perhaps spreads herself too thin, well....you've spread yourself too thin. As I have.
I'm not ruling out trying 12 new things.
But I am ruling out blogging about them.
I am working on a play.
I am working on a book.
I am working on a story.
I write freelance features.
I write freelance business writing.
I need to work on my website.
I run. A lot.
I Twitter.
I Facebook.
Something has to go. This blog is it.
Coming here to write has become something I kind of dread.
Things you do--hobbies--should be fun. Otherwise why do them?
I am not getting any joy out of this blog. It's become something I dread.
Blogging for me has been largely the "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?" philosophy.
People pay for my writing. And I write stuff on my own, for a different audience, depending on what I'm writing. I guess.
And the blogging thing just stretches me too thin. It disallows focus on other things. Not running. but writing. It's one more thing I Have To Do.
And that's not what it should be.
I'm not ruling out starting another blog for now, and I do love this one for its discourse on rowing and biking and being the age I am. It's like a little snapshotty journal.
But--at least for now--I'm out.
