Having written yesterday's post early in the day, it seemed quite odd not to do a round-up in the evening. I've never been one to keep a diary so it seems strange that it now matters to me.
It is a deliberate choice that I write pretty well every day, however. The rule "only write when you have something to say" is perfectly valid. However, if I followed it, I would rarely write anything - well, more than that, I'd have given up blogging a long time ago. The thing is, I am no writer and not a lot happens in my life that 'needs' to be written about. I've tried drafting posts, sometimes to put out if it's been a quiet day, sometimes because I want to talk about an issue that means a lot to me, and it doesn't work. I am, indeed, no writer. If a post is spontaneous, it's better than one I've carefully worked on; or so it seems to me. Something that has been drafted and saved is rarely posted. The subject seems trivial, my words are trite, I've lost interest or think that you will have done. I delete it and have to rapidly put up a couple of photos instead.
The reason I put up photos, or write a quick post, is because I found, in early blogging days, that the longer I left it, the harder it was - that is, in a daily blog the odd duff post could be overlooked, but the less often I wrote, the more it seemed to matter. So it's not a discipline, it's a pleasure, but it's also a chosen obligation.
What does seem odd is that I call my family by their real names on Facebook and by pseudonyms here. Not so much with my children - or with my grandchildren, as I rarely mention them in The Other Place. But it's the Sage. I keep having to remember where I am and what to call him. I do like to think of him as the Sage, but it seems quite artificial, when anyone who has followed the link to his website knows his real name.