April has been my worst blogging month since I started almost a year ago. In fact, none of my writing has been going well--that is I haven't done much writing. I've been keeping up with my morning pages (even though the term "evening pages" is more accurate for a a few entries), made some half-hearted attempts at working on a poem, but that's about it.
It's not for lack of subject matter: I had many ideas--things I'm reading, TV shows and movies I've been watching, the cancellation of One Life to Live and All My Children, our Gettysburg weekend.
I guess I've just been pre-occupied with other things--a surge of last-minute tutoring students for the May SAT, research for the condo renovations that we're finally ready to start, schedule adjustments to Jeff's new project in downtown Manhattan.
I miss writing--I need to do more of it--blogging, poetry, essays, longer pieces.
I feel a little awkward writing about not blogging. It's not that I have a big audience clamoring for my posts. As far as I know, I have five readers. But I know how disappointed I get when I go to a blog and it's not updated. I owe it to myself--if no one else--to post more.
May will be better.
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