Does this Blog Make My Butt Look Big?

Brevity is the soul of wit—Shakespeare

When it comes to writing, I don’t worry about my head ever getting too big.  The same thing can’t be said for my butt, however.  See I have a problem.

My name is Liz.  I am a word addict.  Plain and simple, I just use to many of them.   So I woke up this morning determined to write a blog in 50,000 words or less.  Ready, go!

Often when I write, I go into information overload, and adjectives and adverbs of all sort seem to fall from the sky like raindrops, ripe for the picking, to spice up my entry.  Oh, did I mention similes and metaphors?

When I approach writing, I first try to write free flow and just let the thoughts flow where they may.  Several hours later, as my word count begins to approach three thousand, and my family is slowly wasting away from starvation downstairs, I realize it may be time to not only reach the core of my topic, but now quickly wrap up my  entry.

Writing can be like going on a long sailing trip.  You are blown by every breeze, and then all of a sudden, boom!  You hit a sandbar.  In the old days, this was the part where you ripped the paper out of your typewriter, cursed, and balled it up, and chunked it in the trash!  Now days, you simply delete it, or file it with slim to nil chances of ever retrieving it in the future.

Whether it’s word constipation,  or verbal diarrhea, I am learning writing, particularly the primarily (revision: almost always) unpaid job of writing in the blogosphere can still be exhilarating.  For one, you are getting loads of practice.   Secondly, you are not out in the world over-consuming, selfishly using up the world’s resources like fossil fuels, buying useless things you don’t even need,  or getting all stressed out over the state of the world.

However, you probably aren’t burning up a lot of calories with your fingers.  In fact, you may be consuming more than you burn, especially if write with a comfy plate of carbohydrate-laden pastries and a diet coke on standby near your mouse.

This finally leads me to my point.  You may not get famous.  You may not even get paid.  Your butt may get bigger in the process.  But somewhere in the process, you just may find the gentle stirrings of your soul, urging you on to pursue your writing dreams.

And now my fifteen minutes of writing time has expired.  Time to go to my day job.  Let’s hope I can fit into my pants!