Nothing to Say

What do you do when you have nothing to say? Well, I for one just stop blogging for a bit. I have opinions of course, and plenty of status updates, but I’ve had nothing to say because I’ve been living knee deep in the exciting world of Grown Ups. So far, as far as I can tell anyway, it’s made up primarily of running toilets, the phrase “Send me an email, and I’ll take care of it,” and budgeting. It appears my thoughts on adulthood from my first diary are incorrect. There is very little dancing with Muppets and monsters (that was the summer of Labyrinth), buying a lot of toys, or telling princes off for trying to rescue me. However, there is a fair amount of eating ice cream for dinner. I nailed that one.

I was chatting with my friend Travis several weeks ago. He was asking if I was doing any writing lately, and instead of thinking of the blog, I thought of the wildly inappropriate short stories I’ve been writing for fun. It just goes to show that blogging only works if you have enough opinions to sustain the sort of writerly relationship that regular blogging entails. I could blog about what I’m thinking most of the time, but I doubt you care about my ode to Baby Bell cheese or my constant waffling on the subject of true love and relationships. The point of writing that is to say that maybe I’m not the writing type. Maybe you have to have something interesting, profound, or at the very least funny before you are allowed to expect people to care about what you’re writing. Maybe I’m on the wrong track.

Then again, maybe blogging is just kind of ridiculous unless you are famous or a feminist or Jenny Lawson.  Maybe expecting people to care about the stuff that we usually put in our diaries is narcissistic and delusional. Maybe I don’t have anything to say because I’m trying too hard to be interesting when what I’m really doing is wondering why my office sometimes smells vaguely of soiled baby diapers. Despite all of this adulty stuff I’m doing, I somehow still feel like I’m too immature to write about anything significant. I don’t have enough wackadoodle experiences to maintain a blog for more than a year or two.

Which is all just a really roundabout way of saying that I’m feeling an existential dread about this blog. I like writing, and I love sharing ideas, but the blog feels less like the forum I’d like it to be and more like a soapbox. I don’t want to think of myself as some kind of voice in the wilderness (aka the interwebs). I’d rather just meet up over coffee and talk. I don’t have enough answers to write with any kind of regularity or verve and too many questions to be comfortable expecting people to read what I have to say. Maybe I should dump the blog or else turn it into a series of question sets, and then maybe you can answer them. Maybe I should stop at 520 words about not having anything to write about. Maybe I’m a liar.



About charliegreenberry

I grew up in the wilds of New Mexico in a strange combination of free and restricted. Now, as I stumble unwillingly into adulthood, I find memories resurfacing. So I dust them off, sand them, slap on a coat of paint and display them with the hopes that at some point they'll make sense and pull the room together. The blog is a space for writing, for sharing, someday sharing without worrying about who is reading it, and a place to practice. Virginia Woolf said, "A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction." Well, here's to having a room at least.
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One Response to Nothing to Say

  1. Bjornsson, Nina says:

    I have always loved your posts. You have much to say. But if blogging is no longer fun for you, don’t do it. But if you change your mind, remember you have a fan.

    Nna Bjrnsson, Phd Assoc. Prof., Languages and Literature ENMU Portales, NM 88130 ________________________________________

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