Keeping it Simple

“Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.”
Clare Boothe Luce

If you’re subscribed to this blog, you may have noticed a slight uptick in the frequency of entries I’ve been posting lately. Ok, maybe “slight” is not the most accurate word to use. It would probably be better to use “significant” or “major.” But that’s not really my point.

My point is to say that, yes, I am posting more frequently. And the reason for that is simple. I’ve simplified my online life and brought all – with the exception of one – of the sites I’ve been trying to juggle over the last few years into this one, simple blog.

Was that the right decision to make? I have no idea. All I can say is that it is the right decision for right now which is all I really need to be concerned about. Because the truth is that I crave simplicity. And efficiency. I also crave Dr. Pepper, but I’m trying to kick that particular craving. The other two, though, notsomuch.

Instead, I’m embracing them.

I am one person who has many interests. Three of which happen to be writing, photography and personal finance. And for the last few years, I’ve separated those three things. Compartmentalized them. Treated them independently of each other. And I have felt stuck and confused and stretched and incomplete as I’ve tried to split my time focusing on each of them individually.

So now, I’m just going to focus on how each of those interests (and any others) make up the complete me. And I hope that, in doing so, I can then reflect the glory of God through them.


The Ironic Thing About Writing

Here’s something ironic.

The hardest thing about wanting to be – er wait, I mean, being – a writer…

(…writing coaches keep telling me I need to claim the title of “Writer.” Which is odd, really. Because a Writer writes, right? And I haven’t written a thing in months. But, whatever, they’re the writers and I’m the wannabe so I’ll trust them, I guess.)

Anyway, back to what I was saying.

The hardest thing about being a writer is writing.
Putting words on paper.
Stopping life to write it down.

I seem to find every excuse under the sun to keep myself from putting my ass in a chair and typing away. The dogs need a bath. My toes need to be painted…after I clip them. The yard needs to be mowed. I need to clean out my closet. I should get a run in or shave my legs or finally finish that craft project I started three months ago. I haven’t seen this episode of Downton Abbey yet and that episode of The Blacklist had everyone tweeting about it and I just have to see what all the fuss is about…now.

Other writers will (likely) understand this. For you non-writers, perhaps this is news to you. Whatever the case, know this, my friends. The life of a writer is not all musings and pithy sayings.

[pullquote width=”300″ float=”left”]The life of a writer is not all musings and pithy sayings. [/pullquote]

Nope. The life of a (or, at least, this) writer is H.A.R.D..

Most of the time I can’t even really identify what I’m musing about myself much less put it into words that say anything to anybody else. Nor can I manage to complete an online Writing coaching class (or two). That I’ve paid for. That is supposed to help me break through the nothingness.


I have tried everything. Getting up early. Staying up late. Writing about nothing. Writing about something. Trying really hard. Not trying at all. Writing on a computer. Writing longhand. Drinking water. Reading. Drinking wine. Running. Drinking whiskey. Praying. Drinking vodka. Regretting.

It’s vicious, really.

Because there continues to be this nudge. This push. This feeling deep-down-in-my-gut-that-I-can’t-ignore that tells me to write. I have no idea why. I think if I did, I might have a better chance at actually doing it. The best I can come up with is that I write because I have something to say. The problem is, I don’t know what that “something” is. Not really. Not the big “something.” …it’s just a lot of little somethings that pass through my head and, sometimes, make it to a computer screen.


I can’t quit, I know. And I don’t really want to quit.

I just wish I could manage to move forward instead of being (perpetually) stuck.

But I refuse to give up. I will not be overcome. Because I do have something to say. And even if others don’t want to hear it, even if I can’t yet put my finger on just exactly what it is, there is still purpose in writing. And that is enough for now.