One year ago today, I started my first National Blog Post Month. I wrote more-or-less daily for thirty days, putting up everything from analyses of Disney movies to somewhat nonsensical lists to short stories. I didn’t quite post every day, but I came close, and that was enough for me.
In a planned post-mortem blog post, I was going to write about how NaBloPoMo had changed the way I approached my blog: How over the course of the month, I stopped thinking about blogging only when I sat down to do it and started working it into my everyday life. Topics were no longer things I came up with as I stared at my laptop after dinner, searching desperately for inspiration. Instead, everything I did was run briefly through the “can I blog about this?” filter. I thought about writing while I was making dinner, while I was doing dishes, while I was on the bus home from work. In short, my blog became an actual part of my life rather than an afterthought.
And then…I never wrote that post-mortem. Or much else, for that matter. Oh, I kept writing in December, at least enough to pretend I had an active blog. I wrote a New Year’s post, and a Valentine’s Day one, which is basically the blogging equivalent of a Catholic who goes to mass only on Christmas and Easter. And now it’s somehow November again, and I haven’t posted anything since [mumbles incoherently]. For someone who would eventually like to write for a living, that’s kind of ridiculous.
The advice I see most often about writing is this: If you want to be a writer, write. Which seems like pretty solid advice to me.