Blogging; Writing A Play

Every blog post I write appears in three places at more or less the same time: here on my WordPress blog, and on my and blogs. Together the three bring me some 40,000 “views” per month. I have no idea how many people that number represents, but I’m guessing I couldn’t fit them into my living room at once.

I’ve been blogging for one year now. It’s become one of my two primary creative outlets: I blog, and I write books. Both are dear to me.

Lately I’ve been doing neither. I’m between books — the editing of one done; the exact structure of the next still in the works — and my last blog post was on May 6, four days ago. Four days isn’t much time in real life, but in Blog Time it’s about four months. My view numbers have plummeted like a toddler on a tight-rope. Posting to a blog is like drinking water: If you don’t do it all the time, you pretty quickly expire.

I like to post a new piece at least every other day, because I know people are showing up to my blog, and I hate the thought of not giving them something for their trouble and precious time. It kills me that people come to my blog. I feel it as an honor. So I want to do my best by the people who show up here; I want to show them, via the quality of what I give them, the same respect they show me by coming here in the first place.

Lately, though, I’ve been having one of the most exceptional writing experiences of my life. I’m writing a three-act play. I figure it’s at most ten hours’ work away from being finished. I expect to have it done by the time my father arrives here this Thursday. (I wrote about my pop’s upcoming visit on my last post, My Dad, My Book, and the 2008 San Diego Book Awards.)

I won’t bore you with why, exactly, I’ve found writing my first play such an … enveloping experience (especially since I know I’ll never fully understand it myself) — but it has meant that lately, whenever I sit down to write a blog post, I instead open the play and work on it. Which is so bizarre I can barely think of it without making funny Martian noises. I never don’t blog. At this point, I don’t even know how not to. I think in blog segments. I’ve felt destined for a daily column since I first learned there were such things. Blogging for me is like swimming for a fish.

Except that lately I’ve been being Joe Playwright.

I’m afraid all I’m saying is that I may not post anything new here until my play’s finished. That might be tomorrow. That might be in two weeks. I have no idea. But somewhere in there, for sure.

You’ll wait for me, yes?

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  • Oh, you guys are just such sweeties…

  • John,

    I'm just glad you're okay.

    It is heartening to find you're working on another project, pursuing it with your usual full passion and perserverance.

    When you, my all-time favorite blogger who started me reading blogs in the first place, didn't post in the usual pattern I assumed the worst, you were sick or something dire had happened in your life. So I started talking with God about you.

    A good outcome of your sabbatical is instead of lurking about your blog and obsessing on your good humor now I'm developing my own daily habit of blogging, something unthought of a year ago.

    Not that that comment will make you, me or your committed readers feel any better.

    As the others noted, God's got something else for you to do now.

    Just know we'll be here waiting – cheering you on.

    And hopefully you look forward to returning to us, writing us more thought-provoking, creative, humorous and inspirational blog entries.

    God's love and peace be with you.

    I'm sure you'll spread it to others through your play as you have your blog.


  • No way, man. I'm outta here.

  • Fine John. Abandon us. Leave us to fritter our time away visiting obscure 2-hit a day blogs that fit like a cheap suit and don't respect us in the morning while you follow your passion, search for your dream, lay a second layer of floor wax on the linoleum in your kitchen. We'll be here when you return and are able to scrap together a few measly minutes to toss a post to us your loving and devoted minions. No. Don't worry your pretty little semi-shiny head about us.

    Have a nice day and sleep well tonight Great Wordsmith. Sleep the sleep of literary angels while our wounded hearts bleed.

    :::::wandering off to search for my therapist's phone number:::::::

  • just kidding 🙂

  • arlywn

    Thats okay, we'll be here…. randomly talking to ourselves…. with heathen imputs from time to time. lol.

  • Shell

    You've got an amazing comments section, John. You commenters make me laugh out loud as much as the posts. (Sorry, John–ALMOST as much as the posts, and really only sometimes.) I just came across the farmyard/pirate pun thing the other day, after not checking in for awhile. You guys had me cackling and chortling so much that my family grew alarmed. Write your play, John. As long as people keep commenting, I'll keep checking in regularly. Then when you do post, it'll be like icing on the cake. It's wonderful to see how much people love you, and how nice everyone is without being boring.

  • FreetoBe

    Write your play. Finish your play. Your passion, right? God give you the desires of your heart, right? Write.

  • Ditto…FreetoBe!

    Follow your heart, John….go with the flow. We’ll wait with baited breath for the blog’s to begin again!

  • Oh, you’ll be back, Skerrib.

    If not, I’ll … sic the deer on you.

  • Elizabeth

    Hey, JS!!!

    Don’t worry about missing blogging days… I haven’t had time to read much anyway. I’ve been really busy lately with a full schedule of concerts, weddings, a musical and a recital tonight of a handful of my beginning violin students! (Ahhh… The life of a freelance musician!) In other words, we’re doing our passions, too… Soo… I totally forgive you and totally understand!

    Write away… Make us proud. We’ll check back from time to time to see how you are doing. 🙂

  • Second Michele

    That's it. I'm never reading this blog again

  • Gotcha bookmarked, John. I check every day, even if I don't often comment. Good luck with the play.

  • Shell: Thank you. "My family grew alarmed." I love that.

    Michele: Funny! Only different.

    Chuch: Thanks, man. You're the best.

  • Forget the deer; I’ve got snakes to deal with it turns out.

  • arlywn

    snakes are bad, you should work on that skerrib, what kinds of snakes?