no pain, no gain

Oh, hey, kids. Look at that. It's July 7th and I haven't written a single post this month. We'll have to remedy that, won't we? I hereby declare blogcation to be over.

So what shall we talk about? Despite the title, not strength training, because I still haven't started that yet. Not that I don't look in the mirror nekkid just about every day and say to myself, "Andrea, if you were lifting right now, you'd look awesome." Maybe I don't *want* to look any more awesome than I already do (ha!), did you ever think of that? Maybe if I looked any more awesome even more persons with y chromosomes would feel entitled to my conversation just because I own a vagina and leave my house occasionally. Maybe instead of lifting weights, I should take up some of your martial arts so I could take down said annoying male persons with one punch*** Besides, as I told Mr Indemnity a few years ago when he steadfastly refused to go to the free trial class at the kickboxing gym with me (I found the postcard on *his* coffee table), hitting stuff is FUN. But alas, I know I am incapable of martial artistry. I know because D took, I dunno, three years of kenpo karate when he was a little kid (until basically our house burned down and our life was severely disrupted for a bit and then he didn't go back to it), and karate involves remembering all sorts of complicated series of moves and doing them just right in order to advance to your next belt. I lack the motor coordination for that. I can barely follow along in yoga, fer crissakes. I do, however, like to hit things.

Did you notice that huge digression there? With the parenthetical asides n' all? Keep that in mind, it'll be important later. Hand to god. (I was gonna give you yet another digression about how bad my mother was with this, such that you would be driven to say, "Ma! I know there's a point to this story. GET TO IT." But you'll just have to settle for another parenthetical aside instead.)

What were we talking about? No pain, no gain! Writing-style, that is.

Over the long weekend (the epic**** details of which I will spare you), I had a couple of people ask me for my blog address. This was after I had made a statement that I don't write any more and was told in return that blogging *is* writing. Well, all y'all know I don't believe that. At least, I don't believe my blogging is real writing. I was challenged to explain that, and I couldn't. Not coherently anyway. And then, having read, these kind and writerly people sent me some very nice compliments about The Adventures and told me to, and I quote, "STFU about the 'not-real writing' thing!"

So, I was pondering, as you do, why I felt that way, and how I might more coherently explain it. And it came to me that the reason I feel that is that IT'S TOO EASY. Man, writing fiction is hard. Believe me, I spent a good ten years learning and practicing, and while one's results do get better over time, it doesn't ever get easier. There is so much to worry about: plot, characterization, dialogue, believability, prose style, emotional impact, entertainment value. Writing a blog? All you need to do is have an idea pop into your head and then write it down in a vaguely entertaining manner. It's not hard if a.) you have ideas and b.) you have a writing style capable of keeping people from falling asleep and drooling onto their keyboards. It doesn't even require editing. If it did, would there be all those digressions and parenthetical asides in this lovely piece of prose you're reading right now? I think not!

Now, I suppose there are people out there--brought up in different sociocultural milieus from me I would imagine--who don't subscribe to the idea that all good things require hard work. I don't know what my rebuttal to them would be. I'ma think on that some more.

Meanwhile, you all stay hydrated; it's hot out there. And use some product in your hair. Yeah.

xoxo

*** I fear that at least one of my new readers, unaccustomed to the style and tone of Adventurous rants, thinks I'm about *this* close to snapping and taking out a few people with a semi-automatic weapon. Or a nail file. One of the two. Long term readers are welcome to add testimonials in the comments that I am really a very sweet person who does the metta meditation and who exaggerates her annoyances for humorous effect. Well, most of the time. But, seriously, not in danger of punching anyone. Especially if one of yous will go to the kickboxing gym with me and let me hit stuff there instead.

****I was gonna say EPIC, but I decided that adjective is only going to be used from now on when Our Lil MILF reappears in my (your/our) life again.