I’m working through what the next evolution of this daily blog might (could? should?) be. If you’re following along, here’s the last post. I have no idea how many of these posts it’ll take, but hey, a post is a post.
One of the reasons I’ve grown tired of the format (if you can call it that) is that I was trying to be too consistent with it. I’d decided my writing was about moments and memories, and veered away from most else. I told myself that I loved memoir, and some things didn’t meet that bar.
Aside from my morning pages, this blog is often the only writing that I’ll get to do in a day, and I don’t always want to write something memoir-esqe. I don’t always want to dig up the past, and—as much as this pains me to say—sometimes I’ve just had a very average Tuesday.
Some days, I’ve thought about writing something about my day job or an interest of mine—and I’m lucky that this Venn diagram is basically a circle—but it hasn’t felt “right” for the blog. What does that mean? No idea. Maybe just that it felt too goofy next to a short essay about the death of my grandfather. But it’s life, right? It’s all just life; a regular life.
Other times, I’ve thought about sharing something short about some website or podcast I liked. I have done this, in fact, but even then I think I tried to take it too seriously. I couldn’t just say “this was a good listen,” I had to say “this is profound and is a lesson to be imparted.” It was self-important. It was knowingly self-important. I know, I know: barf.
As I thought about it a little today, I settled on the idea that most of what I’ve posted so far could be considered (something like) diary, and wondered what the compliment to a diary is. Some internet sleuthing reminded me of a concept that I love: a commonplace book.
If diary is inward, commonplace is outward. The things that interest or inspire you. Things that you collect. I’ve always said that I wanted this daily blog to be the place where I plant seeds, but I’d only been planting one variety. I’d neglected the huge variety of seeds out there.
Maybe that’s what I’ve been looking for? Perhaps I should loosen the reigns a bit? I could write things other than moments and memories, but I could also collect the things I’m interested in from others. I could plant more seeds, of more varieties, to inspire other writing.
I’ll just leave the thought here for now. Maybe this is something, and maybe it isn’t. I’m just going to keep (awkwardly; messily) exploring ideas over the next few days, and to do so without being a self-important prick. I like this idea though—it seems… good? I’ll sleep on it.