"I do too much," I say.
"Well, stop doing things!" the good Carter replies.
This scene plays out so much at Sherlock Peoria Central that you'd think we were running daily matinees.
September 1 is finally here and my "Blogaugust" goal of a blog post for each day of the month (but maybe not necessarily on that day) is over. I actually enjoy just sitting down and dumping out my thoughts on you kindly folks who find them worth a read, either due to a congenial topic or just side show strangeness. The very act of writing is a like a different sort of meditation for me, focusing my mind, distracting from other cares, and just getting to play with words. It's really the same as a diary or journal in a way, just one I'm willing to leave the little padlock open on.
"Web log," the root of "blog," makes it sound a bit like being on the web is being on an ocean or space voyage, and your browser needs a logbook to document your adventures. Which is not all that far from the truth. I suppose I could be writing pastiches, as there seems to be an ongoing market for those of late (at least for the publishing of them -- not sure how big the buying market actually is). But surely we're nearly out of Victorian word combinations to follow "The Adventure of the . . ." (Hmm, I think there's a blog post there.)
Adding a podcast (or two) to one's internet resume is not helpful to one's blogging output, and adding a monthly newsletter to that, one can build a routine self-expectation of output that makes all those other projects one inevitably says "yes" to a little rougher to find time for. And one will say "yes."
Add in some travels, a little sick time, all those lovely streaming shows . . . and one gets this past August, and a lot of statements of "I do too much."
But the thought of quitting any of it? Well, I've quit things before. I even did an actual "quiet quitting" of Sherlockiana itself in the early nineties, but that didn't take. But all of those things I've quit before have left their scar tissue. They don't make it easier to quit other ventures, they actually make it harder. You know what regret feels like from leaving a project behind, killing a website, ending a society or publication. You get haunted by those endings and their "might have been" alternate futures.
As I wrote about last post with the Occupants of the Empty House, sometimes things come to a natural end. At some point, we just can't do things any more for actual changes in our lives and the new barriers they bring. And hard choices have to be made.
But for me? For now? Well, "Blogaugust" may be done, but Sherlockiana is a playroom with far too many toys to go down for a nap just yet. (And from kid to adult, I fight sleep like it's come to steal my cookies.)
On we go.
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