Several bloggers I follow recently announced they will be taking a break from blogging. Most gave a time frame for their return, others said, “we’ll see.”
They will be missed, but I commend them for taking a needed rest. Especially those who said it wasn’t fun anymore. I mean, if you’re not enjoying this blogging thing, then why do it?
Which led me to think about this here blog. This Feeding on Folly.
You might have noticed our posting has been a bit sporadic. For the first three years there was an article every Wednesday, and sometimes a Saturday too if we were feeling especially productive.
But since this last June, around the time we relocated closer to Santa, the posting schedule has been hit or miss. There might be a Wednesday post, it might be Thursday, possibly Friday, or hey, maybe none at all. (Oh, the suspense!)
So after reading the fifth blogger in a row who wrote, “this will be my last post for the foreseeable future,” and I swear I heard a dirge playing in the background, I got to wondering if that was my problem. Maybe I’m in need of a break? Am I facing blogger burnout?
Has Fun left the building?
We decided to give the matter some serious thought. It was time for Self-Reflection, and if you’ve been following FoF for any reasonable amount of time, you know that Self-Reflection is our game.
For our evening of Rumination and Cogitation, we selected the chair nearest the fireplace and poured a glass of zinfandel.
Some might say pinot noir is a better choice for Introspection, but there is much to be said for zinfandel. The primary one being the zinfandel was on sale for six bucks and the pinot wasn’t. So there you go.
Sitting in the chair with Me was the Me doing the analysis. The Me doing the analysis was drinking Earl Grey, as she wanted to keep her wits about her.
Our conversation went as thus:
Me: It’s nice to see you again. How are things going?
Me: No complaints. You?
Me: Same. I noticed you didn’t do a blog post last Wednesday. Is everything okay?
Me: Aw, you noticed! That’s so sweet!
Me: Well, I didn’t notice right away. Truthfully, I forgot it was Wednesday.
Me: Right?! It’s so hard to keep track of those things.
Me: So was that it? You just forgot? That’s… troubling.
Me: Is it?
Me: What about Thursday, Friday or Saturday? You could have posted something one of those days.
Me: Meh. I just wasn’t feeling it. And now I’m kinda worried I might be facing burnout.
Me: Uh-huh. And how does that make you feel?
Me: Interesting. Tell me, has the well run dry? Are you lacking ideas?
Me: No, I’ve got plenty of ideas. I just wasn’t sure any of them were blog-worthy.
Me: I see. Listen, how about you tell me one of the ideas and I’ll tell you what I think of it?
Me: Gee, I’m not sure…
Me: Hey, if you can’t trust me, who can you trust?
Me: Okay… well, for one of them I was writing about my new job at the convent and about how last week I was helping with this workshop thingy and when one of the nuns realized she forgot something she said, “Oh shit.”
Me: Really? A nun said shit?
Me: That should be worth a blog post. A nun saying shit.
Me: Is it though? I mean, so what if a nun says shit? They’re human.
Me: Yeah, but you don’t expect them to say shit. That’s what makes it funny.
Me: Maybe. But there’s only so many times you can write shit before you wind up with a post full of shit.
Me: I see your point. What else have you got?
Me: Well, then I started thinking about how different this job is from my last job. You know, going from a high school to a convent.
Me: Go on.
Me: And how after two months of working here it was the first time I heard shit, but there–
Me: You heard it every two minutes?
Me: Something like that.
Me: Okay, yeah, I could see that being funny.
Me: Yeah. But then I got to thinking I was sounding all goody-goody, like I had a problem with people saying shit.
Me: And really, I don’t care. I mean, hey, sometimes I say shit too.
Me: But not at the convent. I don’t say shit there.
Me: Some places aren’t shit-appropriate.
Me: And then I started writing about how I finally met the oldest sister at the convent. She’s 103.
Me: No kidding? A hundred and three?
Me: Is she the nun who said shit?
Me: No… though I bet she does, don’t you think? Say shit?
Me: I bet she does. Heck, when you’re 103, I bet every morning you wake up and realize you’re still alive you say, “Oh shit.”
Me: I suppose.
Me: Yeah, I bet she does. I bet she says shit.
Me: Listen, about this blog. What do you think? Give it to me straight – am I facing burnout?
Me: No, I don’t think this is burnout.
Me: Really. Borderline psychosis, maybe. A touch of schizophrenia. Mild hysteria leading toward an eventual breakdown, sure. But not burnout.
Me: Oh, that’s such a relief. I feel so much better.
Me: Glad I could help. Now pour me a glass of Zin.