I have been on a blogging hiatus. It started with a bug, and as I reenter the world after another bout of snuffles and coughs I am blogging again. I blame the angry pixie, he filled my head with cotton wool and six inch nails, leaving a raiser blade in my throat for good measure. The bastard!
The more time I spent away from my blog the more I questioned why i write. Internal monologues are most intractable. I have been writing off and on for a few years, but still feel like a newby, struggling to find a voice.
I want to be honest, but does that make the blog worthy and lead me to reveal too much. Should I just work back from a punch line. Should I edit more heavily? The Bloggess writes six posts for every one she publishes.
So why do I do it? Exhibitionism? No. I want to write and have the discipline of getting some words onto paper. If I edited and subedited it would end up by being tortured navel gazing. It is part dairy and part evidence that I exist - I feel an invisible woman, not Sarah anymore but my life is all a reflection of my family and animals.
Primo Levi wrote that before you can write you need to have something to write about. He was a genius but he also had rather more raw material than anyone should ever have to endure. Instead all I can offer is the view of earth form planet Sarah where I enjoy the pretty good life, complete with children, craft and cooking.
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