Last night my husband reminded me that it’s been several months since I last blogged. October 11 to be exact.

There was a time when I wouldn’t go to bed at night until my daily blog was completed and scheduled to be published come morning. Now, there is always so much to do, that I put it last – which sometimes means never.

When blogging first became popular, EVERYONE was blogging. To gather a following, you’d visit other blogs, comment on them and most of the time, they’d return the favor. It became like a community of friends. You’d have the ones you’d read without fail every day and some you visited on a weekly basis. You’d have your favorites, from the humorous to the serious to the educational.

It was a way to discover new authors. Or new people with the same interests as you. Or a way to learn something new. It was a window into other people’s lives.

It became a journal for me. A way to express and share what was happening in my life. I’ve said many times, I love to laugh and I laugh at myself as much or more as I laugh at others. Through the blog, I could share the silly things as well as the philosophical and the serious.

But soon, as all good things do, a fad fades into the sunset.

It became difficult to find the time to read them like before. You could spend all day reading blogs and get nothing else done. And always, newer and faster technology become available.

No, blogging is not dead. There are still hundreds of thousands blogs in the cyber universe. I still read a few of my favorites along with recipe blogs and crafting blogs.

But the world is different. Other social media was soon born onto the cyberscene.

First there was MySpace. Which didn’t last long. And, of course, I had a My Space page. It really was fun designing and easy to keep up with.

Next came Facebook. At the present time, it’s still popular and easy to use to share your life and even play games with friends and family.

Twitter became hot (and still is). It was a way to reach thousands and not have to write but a few lines at a time. Faster, concise, shorter, time saving.

Now, I don’t get twitter that much. It may be because I don’t quite understand it and it’s hard to keep up with it. If you don’t keep a constant eye on it, you could miss a tweet from someone you really wanted to read. It reminds me of the ticker tapes at the bottom of screens (sort like news flashes, stock quotes, etc). It goes way too fast and I don’t have as many of the followers, some into the thousands, that a lot of tweeters have. How they keep up is a mystery. And, again, you could spend hours glued to your computer or smartphone.

But that’s just me. And maybe there is a way to group it or categorize it or something to make it easier to read and keep up with so you don’t miss your favorites.

There is also Pinterest which is a major time sucker (or again, is it just moi). I could literally spend hours and hours on that site. Love that site!

Don’t look for it! I guarantee you’ll be hooked also.

Blogging is still my favorite. Although a lonely avenue sometimes, it’s still a more personal one for me. Even though my blogging takes mini vacations, I probably will never completely stop.

Speaking of mini vacations, that brings me to the original question.

Next post I’ll let you know where I’ve been.

Besides Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest, that is…

Did you know worry can kill you?

I hear the gasps in the cyber crowd now.

I worry… you worry… we all worry. We can’t help it. It’s in the genes. We worry about our family, our careers, our finances, you name it and we can find a reason.

But according in an article written by C. S. Clarke, PHD:

‘Worry as a stressor is a direct source of headaches, insomnia, ulcers, and other gastric distress, paranoia, generalized anxiety disorders, depression and phobias. Most stress experts believe that it is an indirect source of disorders involving the immune system, such as cancer. We can literally worry ourselves to death. For example, when worry leads to depression and the depression becomes deep and unrelieved, our immune systems break down to the point where even a cold virus could become a killer.’

Gasp again!

Whether this is a medical certainty or not, those of us who worry (hello, my name is Avery and I am a worrier…), can relate to the physical manifestation constant worry can bring. Just ask anyone who developed problems like mentioned above. Or worse. Most can attest that worry played a big part of the medical history.

How does this pertain to writing?

Worrying means having a lack of faith. So when it comes to my writing (since it is on my list of top ten things to worry about) it implies I have no faith in my ability to ever be published.

Webster’s dictionary defines worry as ‘a mental distress or agitation resulting from concern, usually for something impending or anticipated.’

Bottom line: I’m killing myself by worrying because I have no faith in something that hasn’t happened yet.

Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?

So go forth and write without worry. Save your health. Save your life.

Besides, I also heard worry causes wrinkles.

Gasp!

Recently, while working on my WIP, I was frustrated that there was something missing with my main character. I had the physical description down, her past worked up, some of the plotting done, but something just didn’t quite feel right.

As I do so frequently while mulling problems over, I walk away and clean or vacuum something. Hey, don’t laugh. Agatha Christie admitted to doing her best plotting while doing dishes!

Grabbing clothes out of the dryer, I pitched them on the sofa and sat down to tackle my least favorite chore. The television was on and the Wimbledon was in full swing with the final match was coming up. Me being a sports fan has been limited to freezing winters and scorching summers watching my sons play football and baseball and I have never, ever watched a tennis match. But, as I went to change the channel, I caught a remark that the Williams sisters were playing each other for the Championship.

Wow! Two sisters playing each other for such a coveted title?

The sportscaster mentioned that the older sister had lost to the younger sister at a previous Wimbledon tournament and they were playing each other again.
Who were they? Why were they playing each other? How did their family feel about this? How did they feel about it? What would happen if the same sister won again? Or lost?

As I listened to the sisters’ story, I became spellbound with something that previously held no interest to me before. Through the commentator, I was able to glimpse into their lives, into their hopes and dreams, into their victories and defeats
.
Now I cared. I cared who won and who lost. Cared how their mom must have felt watching her daughters play and not be able to root for either one. I felt deeply for the sister that won and the sister that lost. For the first time, I deliberately watched the sports channel and an entire tennis match.

…to be continued

Everyone has a muse. Unfortunately, mine have been scarce lately but they actually showed up today. Let me introduce you to mine.

I have two muses:

Muse #1 takes the word ‘anal’ to a new level. A day with her is like a day with Martha Stewart. She refuses to show up unless working conditions are in perfect order. Dust on the furniture? Floors need cleaning? Desk not in perfect order? With a look of disdain, she tosses her recently highlighted blonde hair, crosses her exfoliated and tanned arms and demands to know how she is expected to work when exposed to such chaos? Examining her manicured nails, she pouts until the housework is completed. Then she turns a critical eye to the WIP. Research done? Character profiles finished? Plot points worked up? She taps her designer clad foot, impatience marring her perfectly made up face. It is clear she has just arrived from her favorite spa and is in a no nonsense mood. She demands candles and music ala Norah Jones, Leeann Womack, or some other soft, sexy ballads. When she is satisfied, she goes to work.

Muse #2 thinks Jimmy Choo is an item on a Chinese buffet. Nothing but jeans and boots for her. Like my other muse, she shows up when she wants but could care less about anything except what’s on her mind. She strolls in, her long legs pacing the floor, black hair swirling around her shoulders, words coming out fast and furious. Doesn’t matter where I am or what I am doing – working, sleeping, trying to please Muse #1. If I tell her now is not the best time, she just cocks her head and smiles then slowly fades away. Her music runs to a more upbeat, bolder type like Shania Twain, Faith Hill, Celine Dion, Kelly Clarkson, even Taylor Swift, Kenny Chesney and Eli Young Band. She and I had the best time one night sharing a bottle of wine and writing a sex scene that will probably never see the light of day.

It is very interesting when they both show up at the same time. As they eye each other warily, I do as any good writer with two muses would. I grab a book and go read somewhere.

Tell me about your muses…