I finally realized why I don't blog very well.
I was sitting here thinking tonight, as I read friends' blogs, about why I can't seem to be as prolific as other people. I think I finally realized why. Good blogs, the ones you come back again and again to read, usually look at life and muse about it. They turn observations about reality into narratives that are interesting and fun to read.My writing, however, has nothing to do with reality.
When my thoughts wander, it isn't to contemplate the world around me, or wonder about things I see, for the most part. My wanderings take me to places that exist only in my own mind, usually to characters I have carried around with me for years now. I write and re-write plots and stories for them, concocting new adventures for them all the time. I have started putting some of those to paper, but that really doesn't lend itself to blogging.
I am not a non-fiction writer. While I think I knew this, I never really put it in those terms. Most of what goes on in my head revolves around people and places that don't exist. And what is reality-centered isn't always the types of things I want to share with the whole world.
For better or for worse, I move through a world filled with fiction. I'm sure I will get comments about needing to get back in touch with reality, etc., but I am in touch with it. It is hard to explain, but both this world and my own created worlds are real in different ways. I know my characters and places don't exist, but they are at times more real and comforting than the world around me. They can have the things I can't, be the people I'm not. They can say the things I want to, but don't have the courage to. They can keep me company when there is no one else around.
So that is why I don't blog very often. I am too busy thinking about all the stories I want to tell some day.