I was unhappy with the restrictions I put on myself for my first blog, so for my second one I promised myself I would leave it wide open. I only need to post 53 things while I’m 53.
But my mind toys, tugs, pulls on it, the tongue worrying a loose tooth, a rough edge on enamel. “Is this too loose?” I worry out loud. “Is it too boring?” I run my hand over my newly shorn head. I wrestle with it. Will it cause me problems, this lack of structure? Will the lack of one clear focus lose me readers? Because I want readers. I do. I am so grateful for the ones who read my first blog. I am. But I am greedy. I want more. So.
Do I need a clear focus to interest strangers in my blog? Maybe. I think it’s possible. And the writer in me wants a bit of structure, a way of looking at the work, a place to hang things onto. The writer in me starts making things up, and I have to remind her she felt boxed in last time by all her rules. She wasn’t happy with them, and she couldn’t seem to let herself throw them away. “That was you,” she says to me. “That was you who couldn’t move beyond the rules.” She sniffs. “I would have been fine with it.” So.
She’s right. It was my fault.
So. This time, despite my trepidation, I go with no restrictions.
No holds barred. ;-)