And to think a year has passed already

This blog is now a year old. I haven’t developed any profound insights about blogging over the last 12 months, but a few mundane observations come to mind.

The nature of what I write here differs dramatically from what I did in my former life as a journalist. This is personal, casual, idiosyncratic. But in a larger sense, writing is writing, no matter the forum, the topic or the style.

I've learned that blogging is surprisingly time-consuming, if you post daily. For me, writing is the easy part. Figuring out what to write about is more problematic. Perhaps that’s one reason why the blogosphere is littered with the corpses of deceased blogs that have not seen a new post in weeks, months, or even years. My solution has been to make the blog eclectic enough to accommodate almost anything. Perhaps the fact that it lacks a narrow focus alienates some people who believe a blog should be exclusively devoted to politics or pets or petunias or Porches, but I post here primarily to satisfy my own urge to write.

Blogging has reminded me that editors sometimes serve a useful purpose. They can be the bane of a newspaper reporter's existence, because some of them are egomaniacs who are more interested in pushing their weight around than in improving a reporter's work. But a good editor corrects errors and plugs holes. Here, there is no second pair of eyes. I am "the staff." It's embarrassing to have a reader bring a previously undetected typo to my attention.

The novelty of blogging wore off months ago, as the novelty of most anything fades over time. But I keep plugging away at it because it still gives me a chance to reflect on the passing scene, not merely in conversation or quiet contemplation, but in writing. By tapping away at the keyboard day after day, I’m producing a journal of sorts that just happens to be out there for anyone to read.