They lied. As an author blogging is part of our homework and homework is never fun. (Okay, it kind of was for me. I was the dork who loved getting homework in college…but I’m weird). Blogging is like math homework. There. Better analogy…unless you like math….oh you get the point.
I’m not kidding when I say it’s homework. It is, and I literally gave it to myself, and worse, to other authors! I’m part of a group of writers who help support, cheer on and problem solve issues they come up with in the writing world. Can’t figure out how to do something in word? To the group! Can’t find a good stock image? Ask the group! Frustrated by the lack of sales… Well, we all post that. (Sales suck across the board, FYI). So where does this ‘homework fit in’? Well, a few months ago I got the bright idea to assign us all weekly homework. A list of tasks to keep us motivated, not just to write, but to do the million other things we have to do in order to put ourselves out into the world and hopefully into the hands of a reader. Once a month I assign us all to do a newsletter or a blog. We all moan when it comes time to this. Me, probably the loudest. Here’s why. I don’t know what to write about. If I have a sale or a new release or an event I’ve gone to, absolutely, the words flow. But when I’m just in editing hell …I’m left at a loss.
Now, as the assigner of the homework, I am used to there being whining about this very thing: What do we write about? I’m always the cheerleader. Write about your WIP, write a short story, tell them about your weekend, anything, just get it out there! And yet, I can’t seem to follow my own advice. The WIP is sort of under wraps because my agent and I are going the traditional publishing route. My weekend was the same old same old. Nothing blog worthy. It’s not like a Weasel got stuck in my house again or anything.
In the past I’ve been able to blog about my online dating woes. You can find those here and here. But I stopped going to those places. The guys there were a tad…scary. The only thing online dating was good for, was the blog posts.
So that leaves short story. Here’s the thing with short stories. I sense that people don’t really care for them. It feels like people always want novel length or nothing at all, and I get it. A short story is like a chip when you’re starving for Thanksgiving dinner. They tend to be unsatisfying; leaving you hungry for more.
(Just in case there are some that like them, I’ll leave a uber short one. Some may have read this before. If so, apologies)
The Best Man (A story of regret in 52 words)
The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them. “I do,” he said to his new wife–the one he was supposed to love.
Behind him, his best-man, Carl, squeezed his shoulder, expertly faking a smile of his own.
Relenting to the obligatory kiss, he evoked Carl’s lips instead.
Okay. There. I blogged. I hope come next month there will be something more stimulating to blog about.