Currently Reading: Inishmurray: Island Voices by Joe McGowan, Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder and The Wilder Life by Wendy McClure
Although it is illogical, I feel such guilt when I fail to blog on a regular basis. Why that is I do not know, since I am not being graded or paid to do this but I still sigh every time I realize another day has gone by without a blog post. Of course, I am having a wonderful summer, complete with cousin sleepovers, Great River Shakespeare Fest, Seinfeld marathons, and farmer's markets. It's just that I love to write here- journaling and poems are not enough. But time and life always seem to get in the way. I think my struggle lately with this blog has been trying (and failing) to remember that even a quick post about nothing is OK. For some reason, I never want to blog unless I know I have hours ahead of me to write and re-write and hem and haw and reflect and muse. Since my life does not allow that very often, my blog posts become fewer and farther between. Maybe the lesson I must learn (and SOON, since grad school is creeping ever closer), is that writing is writing, and I must not be so hard on myself to write epic essays every time I feel the urge to write.
There is SO MUCH I want to write: about how my trip to Ireland has greatly changed the way I read my Irish history books and re-read my favorite novels; about how my life has suddenly become infused with childhood memories since I started listening to Wendy McClure discuss her love of Laura while simultaneously re-reading the Little House series with my husband, who has *gasp* never read them before but is loving them as much as I hoped he would. Coupled with updates on life (I have tomatoes!) and such, I am itching to write and write and write.
It will happen. Just not today. Bear with me, friends. Today I am practicing the art of a quick blog post and to be honest, it feels pretty darn good. I'll be back soon!