More blogging about blogging.

Yesterday I used my writing time to write a story, but it was also my blogging time so I ended up posting it on my blog.

And then I found myself feeling disappointed.

Every time I post a story I write that I actually think it pretty good (or would be with editing), I am giving up the chance for that particular story to be published for real.

And the goal is to be published for real, right?

Not to just post a zillion stories on a blog that may or may not be read by people other than my family and close friends?

My blogging time and writing time have to be kept separate, which means I have to think about them separately. My goal to write 10 minutes every day needs to be specifically for creative writing that takes place outside the blog. Blogging time will be less frequently, so I still have time to play Clue and Monopoly and BrainQuest with the monster.

Do I really need to post on the blog every day?


But I do need to write.

And that writing needs to be productive.

So I’m off to write a story.

But I’m going to keep it a secret.

Good night!


Speaking of being published for real:

image borrowed from the Bannerwing Books website

Shout out to my writing friend, Ericka Clay, who is celebrating Book Release Day for her novel, Unkept, which was published through Bannerwing Books. Go buy it, read it, and let me know what you think!

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Two o’clock on Wednesday.

He knew she wasn’t going to show up. His watch said it was eleven minutes past two o’clock. They were supposed to meet at two, and he had stood in that spot since a quarter till. He waited, alternating between watching the seconds tick by on the watch face and watching the afternoon sun sparkle…

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I saw your stupid face today.

I was halfway into the next lane when I saw the license plate. Then the sticker on the back windshield. I considered changing back into my original lane in case he saw me and thought I was following him, but how likely was it that he was paying attention to some random car behind him?…

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Please stop telling me I’m fat.

When I wake up in the morning and try to pick out an outfit for work. Please stop telling me I’m fat. As I look in the mirror while washing my hands in the bathroom at work. Please stop telling me I’m fat. As I eat my breakfast, my lunch, my dinner, a snack during…

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Good-bye to you.

Last week I yelled at you. In the confines of my car, I yelled and screamed at the top of my lungs. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I told you all the things I needed to say when you refused to listen. Since then, I haven’t cried over you. I still hurt. Sometimes I’ll forget that…

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