Sometimes I think blogging wastes my time and divulges too much, but I’ve come to realize this: the hel it does. Doesn’t.
I blog more when I’m productive. For example: the past few weeks, sure, I’ve been completing Moss of Moonlight‘s album art, but beyond that, all I’ve done is finish A Clash of Swords, the first five volumes of The Walking Dead, start A Feast for Crows, do a lot of tabata, eat puffed millet and kimchi and tempeh (not at the same time), travel to my hometown and work full-time. Which is a lot, to be sure. But nothing productive (except that new album I’ve started recording with Brian Buller).
This week, however, I’ve plunged back into the editing of my book The Dream Tree (it’s time to finish this thing). Yesterday I made raw sunflower-rye flatbread and chocolate-avocado mousse, both lovely, and worked on the book. Today I ate the mousse and the flatbread, washed dishes all day, went for a bike ride, wrote, realized the only way to improve my double-kicking (it’s a drum thing) was to torture my left (my weak) foot into submission–and I blogged.
And this is why:
I have things to write about when I’m productive. Not that my entries are actually all that interesting, but if I blogged when I’m useless, when all I want to do is eat cacao nibs, bananas and peanut butter, and read. Read. Read.
I’m thinking no one wants to read about how I lay in bed for two hours (granted, after an intense workout, but nevermind that) nibbling organic cornpuffs and pumpkin butter, seeing how many kings George R. R. Martin can murder in a single book. Also, I’ve no motivation to write about that.
And I’ll be honest, I eat cornpuffs and read GRRM even when I am productive. But I do others things too, and blogging keeps me on task.