Bloggers learn to scrutinize life. We notice the significant as well as the insignificant, constantly probing our lives and the world. We are forever searching for the answer to the ultimate question: What the hell can I blog about today?
The most inane things can get the wheels creaking inside my head. Recent blog-fodder came to me as I watched my husband putting up the trampoline. There really wasn’t anything for me to do except get in his way. But I told him I’d help and I was determined to do something. I tried to give off my famous I’m-helping-more-than-I-seem-to-be vibe. Finally, I grabbed up the nuts, bolts and brackets he was toting around and followed him around the trampoline, handing him things as needed. After all I said I’d help, dammit.
And the thought—this could be the subject for blog post—whispered through my head.
I could write reams about the many times I’ve stood around trying to look helpful because, although I offered, there’s really nothing for me to do. But subject matter isn’t as important as the response it evokes. Could I make the reader empathize with the humiliation suffered when I’ve stooped to picking up confetti from the floor in an effort to look as though I’m doing something?
I decide to shelve that and consider some of my other recent ideas:
-Revealing my shocking and painful discovery that many of the inspirational quotes by famous authors were, in fact, never said by them. Who knew that Hemingway never said: “Write drunk. Edit sober”? All these years I’ve been guided by this misquote. Not that I haven’t enjoyed it.
-Baring my soul about the pedi I shelled out big bucks for. My heels are still disgusting and I know that is frowned upon in our society. I’m sure I could rouse some empathy there.
-Enlightening those people who say “I’m thinking of writing a book and getting it published” in the same tone they say “I can recite the alphabet.”
-Reliving the trauma of the divorce of my son’s stuffed dog and my daughter’s stuffed dog. Who knew divorce between stuffed animals could be so ugly?
But the inspiration for those things fizzles out, so in desperation I ask my kids for ideas for a blog post. Invariably two of them answer, “Write about me.” I ignore them.
Then D² suggests writing about mothers I admire for Mothers’ Day. D¹ makes a gagging noise and says, “Boring.” D² says, “Well, write about inspiring fathers then. That will be unexpected.”
I can see I won’t be getting any inspiration from that quarter. I think I’ll go sit in the sun with an iced peppermint mocha and wait for a visit from my muse. She’d better hurry up. I’m not getting any younger.