Now and then people ask me, "Dawn, you amazing blogger, you, how do you come up with your ideas for posts? Your blog entries are always so witty, intelligent, well thought-out, and simply brilliant." (I may have taken a little liberty with that quote.) Well, my most loyal readers, today is your lucky day! I'm about to let you in on the secret of my blogging awesomeness.
The Birth of a Blog Post
I sit down at my computer and immediately head over to Facebook. (All the best blog posts start with a healthy dose of procrastination.) After reading comments and checking out some of my friends’ pages, I decide it’s time to work. Blog, blog, blog, what should I blog about? I stare blankly at my screen until I notice the young man smiling at me from the ‘meet singles in your area’ ad on the sidebar of my screen. I strike up a conversation with him.
“What are you looking at with your bleached teeth and perfectly moussed hair? I bet you think you’re pretty hot, don’t you? Well, you are. But I bet you don’t know the difference between lose and loose. And you probably spell the word definitely like definately, or even worse, defiantly. Or maybe you have a goofy laugh. Or your pores are too big. Or you wear a dorky vest when you ride your motorcycle. Or you have a dozen pictures of your dog, the sunset, the fish you caught, and your car on your profile. Or your voice is too high. Or your fingers are too short. Or you sip girly drinks from a straw. Or you live in your mom’s basement. Or you’re a mouth breather. Really, give me a minute and I’ll find something wrong with you. What’s that? No, I am not neurotic; I’m discerning. There’s a difference. Discerning is perfectly normal. Yeah, so maybe I will die alone. What’s your point? It’s better than listening to someone breathe through his mouth for the rest of my life.”
At this point, I realize that arguing with a picture of a random guy on my computer may indicate that I’m not only neurotic, but I may have a more serious psychosis. I get up and walk into my kitchen to see if any chocolate has materialized since I checked ten minutes ago. Seeing none, I grab a slice of cheese and sit back down to write. I briefly consider the diet in the movie The Devil Wears Prada. “See, I’m on this new diet. I don’t eat anything. And right before I feel like I’m going to faint, I eat a cube of cheese.” I don’t think I could live on cheese. Bread maybe. Wine perhaps. Chocolate definitely.
Okay, it’s time to get serious. I click the new post tab and open a fresh, blank page that stares up at me, awaiting a string of words that will enthrall and entertain the masses. I start thinking about the book I want to write this summer. There’s a scene with a car wreck and I realize that I’ll need to research how rescue workers would respond to such a scene. I may have to stop by a fire department and ask the guys if anyone would be willing to answer some questions. You know, for research. It has nothing to do with my obsession for hero-type guys in turnout gear. It’s purely academic. I drift off and create a scenario in my head of my little visit to the firehouse. I can see the whole scene in great detail. Just as things were starting to get good (we’re talking fire hoses here), the kids start running through the house like baboons on crack. I’m brought back to the task at hand. But not before checking my email. And dosing the kids with Benedryl.
Done checking email, I click back over to my blog. I stare at the page for a minute before I’m distracted by the Big Bang Theory that Jackson’s watching on TV. I commit to pay my teacher friends a visit tomorrow by knocking on their doors. Knock, knock, knock, Marcy. Knock, knock, knock, Marcy. Knock, knock, knock, Marcy. I wonder why I feel the need to make myself into the school freak, but I quickly banish the notion, convincing myself that eccentric behavior is interesting, not freakish.
When a commercial comes on, I walk to the kitchen to check for chocolate again. Finding none, I grab a handful of pretzels and return to my computer and the blank page. Hmmm, what should I write? I grab my phone and text Austin who is upstairs. “Write me a blog post,” I demand. He texts back, “Opening line. What if birds could fly? Boom!” I reconsider my idea to have Austin write a post. But while I have my phone in my hand, I open my solitaire app and play a couple games. Putting down my phone, I stare at the blank screen for a few more minutes. Nothing. I get up to fold some laundry because it’s perfectly excusable to procrastinate if you’re doing something useful.
After starting another load of laundry, I walk back through the kitchen on the way to my computer. I search for chocolate yet again. We don’t even have hot chocolate. Why isn’t there any hot chocolate in the house? It may average 250 degrees every day here in Florida, but that’s no reason not to have any hot chocolate on hand. I grab a stupid apple and sit back down. I check Facebook. I check email. I notice a thread of emails generated from the other Babble bloggers. I’m reminded once again of how I don’t fit in with these guys. They’re all educated, informed, and intelligent. I never have anything pertinent and non-stupid to add to the conversation. Point in case – I just used “non-stupid” as a word. I’m the resident dork who writes nonsense. Well, on a good day, I write nonsense. Other days, apparently, I just stare at a blank screen and think nonsense to myself.
After some more email, a final quest for chocolate (I give up and pour myself a glass of wine instead), and another episode of Big Bang Theory wherein I start thinking that Leonard is kinda cute (which I find deeply disturbing), I close my laptop and trudge up the stairs to bed. It’s been another productive evening in Dawn’s world.
I sit down at my computer and immediately head over to Facebook. (All the best blog posts start with a healthy dose of procrastination.) After reading comments and checking out some of my friends’ pages, I decide it’s time to work. Blog, blog, blog, what should I blog about? I stare blankly at my screen until I notice the young man smiling at me from the ‘meet singles in your area’ ad on the sidebar of my screen. I strike up a conversation with him.
“What are you looking at with your bleached teeth and perfectly moussed hair? I bet you think you’re pretty hot, don’t you? Well, you are. But I bet you don’t know the difference between lose and loose. And you probably spell the word definitely like definately, or even worse, defiantly. Or maybe you have a goofy laugh. Or your pores are too big. Or you wear a dorky vest when you ride your motorcycle. Or you have a dozen pictures of your dog, the sunset, the fish you caught, and your car on your profile. Or your voice is too high. Or your fingers are too short. Or you sip girly drinks from a straw. Or you live in your mom’s basement. Or you’re a mouth breather. Really, give me a minute and I’ll find something wrong with you. What’s that? No, I am not neurotic; I’m discerning. There’s a difference. Discerning is perfectly normal. Yeah, so maybe I will die alone. What’s your point? It’s better than listening to someone breathe through his mouth for the rest of my life.”
At this point, I realize that arguing with a picture of a random guy on my computer may indicate that I’m not only neurotic, but I may have a more serious psychosis. I get up and walk into my kitchen to see if any chocolate has materialized since I checked ten minutes ago. Seeing none, I grab a slice of cheese and sit back down to write. I briefly consider the diet in the movie The Devil Wears Prada. “See, I’m on this new diet. I don’t eat anything. And right before I feel like I’m going to faint, I eat a cube of cheese.” I don’t think I could live on cheese. Bread maybe. Wine perhaps. Chocolate definitely.
Okay, it’s time to get serious. I click the new post tab and open a fresh, blank page that stares up at me, awaiting a string of words that will enthrall and entertain the masses. I start thinking about the book I want to write this summer. There’s a scene with a car wreck and I realize that I’ll need to research how rescue workers would respond to such a scene. I may have to stop by a fire department and ask the guys if anyone would be willing to answer some questions. You know, for research. It has nothing to do with my obsession for hero-type guys in turnout gear. It’s purely academic. I drift off and create a scenario in my head of my little visit to the firehouse. I can see the whole scene in great detail. Just as things were starting to get good (we’re talking fire hoses here), the kids start running through the house like baboons on crack. I’m brought back to the task at hand. But not before checking my email. And dosing the kids with Benedryl.
Done checking email, I click back over to my blog. I stare at the page for a minute before I’m distracted by the Big Bang Theory that Jackson’s watching on TV. I commit to pay my teacher friends a visit tomorrow by knocking on their doors. Knock, knock, knock, Marcy. Knock, knock, knock, Marcy. Knock, knock, knock, Marcy. I wonder why I feel the need to make myself into the school freak, but I quickly banish the notion, convincing myself that eccentric behavior is interesting, not freakish.
When a commercial comes on, I walk to the kitchen to check for chocolate again. Finding none, I grab a handful of pretzels and return to my computer and the blank page. Hmmm, what should I write? I grab my phone and text Austin who is upstairs. “Write me a blog post,” I demand. He texts back, “Opening line. What if birds could fly? Boom!” I reconsider my idea to have Austin write a post. But while I have my phone in my hand, I open my solitaire app and play a couple games. Putting down my phone, I stare at the blank screen for a few more minutes. Nothing. I get up to fold some laundry because it’s perfectly excusable to procrastinate if you’re doing something useful.
After starting another load of laundry, I walk back through the kitchen on the way to my computer. I search for chocolate yet again. We don’t even have hot chocolate. Why isn’t there any hot chocolate in the house? It may average 250 degrees every day here in Florida, but that’s no reason not to have any hot chocolate on hand. I grab a stupid apple and sit back down. I check Facebook. I check email. I notice a thread of emails generated from the other Babble bloggers. I’m reminded once again of how I don’t fit in with these guys. They’re all educated, informed, and intelligent. I never have anything pertinent and non-stupid to add to the conversation. Point in case – I just used “non-stupid” as a word. I’m the resident dork who writes nonsense. Well, on a good day, I write nonsense. Other days, apparently, I just stare at a blank screen and think nonsense to myself.
After some more email, a final quest for chocolate (I give up and pour myself a glass of wine instead), and another episode of Big Bang Theory wherein I start thinking that Leonard is kinda cute (which I find deeply disturbing), I close my laptop and trudge up the stairs to bed. It’s been another productive evening in Dawn’s world.
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