here I am

Staring at the blank writing window, and wondering what I should fill it with. Maybe a memory story. I've enjoyed telling and writing some down, but I don't want to get bogged down with them. I did do a nice job with the salmon for dinner, if I say so myself. Baked it with garlic and olive oil, pepper, dill, and mushrooms, and it turned out tasty. Or how I really have had the munchies this evening, and have tried to choose snacks that are OK, or at least a combination of things that won't send my blood sugar through the roof. I managed to stay away from both the chips and the ice cream, so I was at least that good. I shelled some black eyed peas today too. We got them from the farmer's market, and I'm looking forward to having them for dinner tomorrow. Lovely and fresh foods, and I'm happy they are in reach and I'm taking advantage of them.

Still, nothing seems to be quite enough on its own, to make a whole post. Do I write a story or write about writing. Do I talk to myself? (Um, well, actually I do, and sometimes it helps, but that is rather beside the point.) I have an audience, and I must consider them. The writing books say I must. If I want anyone to keep up with what I post, I have to make it interesting. I doubt really, that this is, particularly. But I think about it, just so you know.

The daily effort to create, tell, remember, characterize and communicate is a good exercise for me. Probably as good as taking a walk. I do see the point of keeping a journal, and making notes more clearly now. More personally. I'm considering entering the occasional vignette into my blog as another kind of practice. The art of the short-short story. The practice of capturing a moment. The extent that writers will go to, to fill a blank space.