There’s a great story that has been told by many a writer about the Wannabe who comes up to them and says, “I’ve always wanted to be a writer.”
So, the writer answers, “Do you write?”
To be a writer, that’s all you have to do. Write.
And, to be a blogger, I suppose, all you have to do is blog.
On paper — er, on the computer screen, in this case — it’s that black and white. To blog, one must simply blog. Log in, tap away, hit publish. The end.
Simple, right? Yet it’s been eight days since my last blog, which pisses me off.
I can chalk it up to a number of reasons. Line ’em up, one by one.
• I’ve been busy.
• I’ve been bouncing around the state as part of being busy.
• Nothing has hit me with enough to force to want to write about it.
• I’m fucking lazy.
OK, maybe I’m not lazy in the grand scheme things. I work too damn long and too damn hard to be lumped in with that group. But I don’t consider myself a blogger. Or, a writer. Anymore. Not really.
I don’t know what I am.
I’m a journalist, I suppose, but in this day and age of Dying Newspapers and the Give It To Me Now Internet, the description of being a journalist has changed so much — too much — with additional roles and titles, it feels too heavy.
Yes, I still write and report. But I am also a photographer. An editor. A proof-reader. A copy editor. A blogger (This isn’t the only one, this is just mine and mine alone). A podcaster. A planner. A videographer. A director. A producer. A paginator. And, it seems all too often, a baby-sitter for people who don’t quite grasp what the business is really about.
I suppose since the “October Weekend” is mine and mine alone, I shouldn’t be too discouraged when I don’t get to it. Yet I do.
So here’s a post.
I just hope I can find the time to build on it.