There are
some phrases you never hear uttered, such as, “That chocolate was disgusting,” “I
would totally vote for Nixon if he were alive,” and “Hooker with morals.”
No one says
these things, because they are unacceptable to say. They are lies. We all know there is no such thing as “disgusting”
chocolate. Heck, even stale and melty M
and M’s are better than no M and M’s.
Another
thing you never hear about is when someone who used to love to write suddenly
(or maybe not so suddenly) just stops.
STOPS.
STOPS.
WRITING.
What?
Did Hemingway stop writing? Did Shakespeare stop writing? Did John Grisham one day just stop writing??
No, of
course not. They had something to say,
and an audience who wanted to hear it.
As a blogger
and eventually book writer, I also had something to say. More than something. I had a LOT to say.
But guess what? After 1000 posts (that’s right, count ‘em), I
think I have said it all. And not only
that, I am a little bit sick of hearing my own voice. So, Blog, I am divorcing you.
It’s been a
fun ride. I remember when I started and
had zero followers. And then two. And then, unbelievably, 10. Then somehow, 100. And now, over 600! In just five years.
For someone
who considers herself shy in real life, this is a huge accomplishment for
me. People wanted to read what I
wrote!
Somehow, I
cobbled it into a book. And then with
help from a fellow blogger, we made a second book. The insecure me I was when I was 11 might not believe
that. But it’s true.
I thank you,
dear readers, for reading what I wrote, and for commenting. (I was a bit obsessive, sometimes checking my
comments every 15 minutes, sometimes less).
I thank you for making me feel like what I wrote mattered. And for taking the time to come back and read
just one more essay, one more paragraph, one more story. I was writing for you.
But lately,
the busy-ness of life intrudes. The
laundry. The job. The carpool.
There are never enough unoccupied minutes to build a pyramid of
words. Discarded words lay littered across
the floor of my study, mocking me (“MOV, you’ll wish you had us back! Mark my,
uh… words!”).
Now I must
bid you and this lovely blog adieu. It
pains me, because I know as soon as I sign off, Muse will return with buckets
full of ideas for me (“Muse, honestly, where have you been for six months?!”).
I never
thought I would utter this phrase: Goodbye,
Blog.
