I was talking to a friend about writing, as we sat in winter sunshine and ate brunch; rich food, the kind we both grew up with, meat and cheese and milk and bread, comforting but with those little twists that allows the restaurant to charge so much for it. I was saying I did not know how to find a good balance, between working on the work itself (the novel, except it may be too short to be a novel, so — the work), and writing other places where I can communicate with those who someday might wish to read the actual work. Speaking to this friend about these things is interesting, as he has no wish or need to write himself, but he does like to read, and he has both the leisure and the resources to follow the careers of whatever writers he wishes, in whatever depth he chooses.
One of his thoughts was that those writers he likes to follow use a space such as this to warm up before beginning their work on their fiction, the writing in the blog along with a cup of coffee or something such, a little connection to the outside before diving within.
So I am here, trying it. I am not certain what I think. Once it is regular to write here there will be a rhythm to it, but to begin with it is like anything, a little confused in the path and uncertain how to start. It makes me miss a little the tumblr I kept for a while, which was more pleasure than work; arranging other people’s words and images is always simpler than creating my own. But it is creating my own that warms up the hands and the words both — and now that they feel so, I will go see if I can make some fiction.