Dear FOQ
I meant to start blogging again.
I really did.
I changed the blog header over Christmas.
I accumulated quite a lot of 'I have been mostly' mentioned. (I've watched a lot of telly. Read some books. Seen some films.)
I even wrote an earlier 'something's coming' post.
I've taken a lot of photos (some of which I've plastered all over my socials already so, old news).
The intention was there.
But here's the thing.
My dad died on 27th January.
So, as you can imagine, the impetus to blog has been minimal at best.
I'm still processing it, eleven or so weeks later; and yes, it has only been weeks, really.
I'm OK with the reality of the words themselves, but not OK with what they entail.
I'm not ready to write about it, that's a certainty.
And even if I were, it may not end up on here.
I'm OK insofar as I am getting up, going to work. Socialising. In March I even sang with my magnificent choir (yes, I was the one bawling my eyes out reaching the crescendo of Unchained Melody; you're welcome).
So I'm functioning. I couldn't really not.
Although burn-out happens fairly rapidly and I do find myself in NOPE mode after a much shorter span of time.
As such, I'm not really 'creating' at the moment.
My poor novel has been neglected since (*checks last saved Word document*) 27th November.
The last sketch I made was this one, as part of the Sketchbook Challenge:
I'm not potato-ing; well, not all the time... but as I said to my manager and publisher last week by way of trying to explain where my head's at, I am not at peak Beth.
I'm not sure I'm going to be for a while.
And to that end I'm not sure that this blog can ever work again the way it used to; mostly because I'm not living the way I used to.
Everything's changed, and I can't pretend that a blog that I kept alive at a time when my life held a certain structure can still serve me in the same way.
As you may remember, I came into 2023 full of naïve hope.
Within less than a month, friends, things were already different.
And I'm being courageous, in so many ways, in alignment with my Word for the Year, but to that end I do need to admit that this blogging lark also needs to look different and work differently.
The long-form format just isn't where I'm at any more. She says, peddling a post that's currently tipping 530 words.
I don't want to go completely short-form, that's evidently not how I roll; but I feel like little and often may be the way to go.
I'm trying to link my Instagram more intuitively to this blog, so that posts turn up on here automatically from there.
As a fair trade-off I'll try to write more by way of captions on the 'gram although I won't write whole, lengthy posts the way I used to with the Sunday Summaries back in the day.
I will also try to be a bit more immediate with sharing my often unremarkable thoughts on what I'm reading, watching, absorbing, interested in; this might also take the form of links over on the quirky brunette Facebook page, which I know I don't use nearly enough. Whatever enough is.
The blog baby still needs to be fed, somehow.
And I need to flex the muscles.
But gently.
qb xx
* I know, I know, it's not actually a fail, I'm just trying to be quippy.
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