Tag: Writing Life

  • Guest Blogger: ChatGPT

    Today’s Topic: The Joy of Blogging

    “Blogging is, at its heart, an intimate conversation—a personal dialogue with the world that somehow feels both public and private. It has a unique place in the digital landscape, offering a freedom that no other medium quite captures. For me, blogging is much like sitting in a quiet coffee shop, composing thoughts that blend the personal with the universal, knowing that anyone could read them, but also savoring the chance that no one might. There’s a joy in that ambiguity.

    I’ve always found that writing, especially in a blog, allows for a certain reflection that we often lack in daily life. It’s not hurried or transactional like so much of our communication today. It’s meditative. Whether you’re writing about a movie, a book, a meal, or a fleeting thought that crossed your mind while walking the dog, blogging is a chance to organize and share those thoughts—messy, half-formed, or fully realized—on your own terms.

    And the beauty is in the process as much as the product. A blog isn’t constrained by deadlines or word counts. It’s your space, and that kind of freedom brings a remarkable sense of satisfaction. The rules of journalism don’t apply here, not in the same way, and there’s a refreshing informality about it. You can write about whatever interests you, in your own voice, and to an audience that is either wide and global or a handful of close readers.

    But it’s also about connection. Even though you’re writing from a solitary place, the real joy of blogging often emerges from the responses it provokes. A well-crafted post can spark a conversation in the comments section or spread across social media, finding resonance with people you’ll likely never meet. It’s that mix of introspection and outreach that makes blogging a uniquely fulfilling endeavor.

    In the end, blogging is about sharing your inner world, not with the aim of seeking approval, but with the simple hope that someone, somewhere, might understand. And that, to me, is the quiet joy of it all.“

    (This blog was an experiment with the free version of ChatGPT. The prompt that I used was “write a 350 word blog about the joy of blogging in the style of Roger Ebert,” and this was the result. I had tried several different prompts with ChatGPT on the subject of blogging, and for this response the most interesting, though I didn’t think it sounded much like Roger Ebert.)

  • Nothing in Particular

    It would be easy to write something about Valentine’s Day. I could put something down about my amazing and wonderful wife. I could write a quick whim about my daughter and her excitement this year of buying cards for us, and her school party. That would clearly be the easy choice.

    I could also talk about the anniversary of the Pale Blue Dot photograph, but honestly, there is no way to top let alone approach what Carl Sagan already wrote about it.

    I even thought about working on something about a couple of new bands that I have started listening to of late: The Hails, Sure Sure, and Kid Bloom. But I have never felt very confident in writing about music.

    What I am is wishy-washy today.

    I spent a good hour at a local coffee shop this morning after dropping off the kid at school, just writing in my journal, and that kind’a zapped me. Which sucks, because I have a good bit of free time today, and there are several things I want to work on. So, I need to push through this block. I’m at 186 words before I started this sentence, and I aim for at least 250 for a post, which means I’m closing in on my goal.

    And I have a storage unit project that I need to start on. That’s just finding a new, cheaper unit that’s closer to our apartment. But I have to look, and make phone calls… That feels like a Thursday thing.

    Anyway, this post is clearly going to be a part of my Greatest Hits Blog book.

  • That Was A Fast Rejection

    So, I had a flurry of submissions that I sent out at the end of January. On the 31st of January to be exact. The month had flown by, and I had fallen behind on some projects, but I made a promise to myself that I was going to get submissions out before the end of the month. I sent out a handful, all to lit journals that I felt my work complimented. Just playing the game like a million other writers.

    I do appreciate that the readers and editors of these journals can get inundated with submissions, and though they try their best, it can take time before they are able to respond. (I once got an email from an editor apologizing for taking so long on my submission, and then a month later they rejected me.) Everyone wants an answer sooner than later, and I do like that some journals says that you should expect a response after three months… if not sooner.

    This afternoon I just received a rejection, after only nine days.

    They were fast; I do like that.

    It was substantially shorter than three months; I don’t like that.

    In all fairness, it’s a rather odd duck of a flash piece.

    See, I want to believe that there was a little bit of a debate over there. Like the reader is fighting for my piece, but the editor is holding strong that there really isn’t a place for my story in their publication, even though it is well written. Then other editors and readers start weighing in. The debate starts getting tense. Voices start rising. People are getting mad. Resignations are threatened; accusations of favoritism are made; mass chaos envelopes the office!

    But, then cooler heads prevail. Drinks are had; apologies given; laughs are shared; everyone starts talking about why they got into publishing in the first place; the power of words and ideas; given people opportunities to share their voices and insights. It’s a thankless job; always on the verge of collapse; no one makes any money.

    “We do this because we love it.” Someone says.

    Everyone agrees, and smiles.

    Then the managing editor adds, “But we got to reject that story.”

    “That’s true,” the reader agrees.

    “Send him the form letter of death!”

    They all start laughing…

    I guess what I’m saying is that if they would have held onto it for at least a month, then my ego wouldn’t be so bruised.

    But, rejection is part of the game.

  • Starting Things Off Right

    You know, the first thing I have to do when I start writing at the beginning of the year is create a new folder to save my documents in. Hello file, 2024.

    This is also my last day of Winter Vacation. The kid goes back to school tomorrow, and though the wife started back at work today, we didn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn, so it felt like we got to sleep in a little. Wednesday, we will all hit the road running; Making breakfast for the family, making the kid’s lunch, getting everyone dressed and out the door. Back to the grind.

    Speaking of grind; I gotta figure out what I want to do for this year. I have the standard stuff like cutting down on alcohol, working out more, more sleep, more reading, getting published in two journals this year. I do have some around the home projects that I need to take care of, and I would like to get better at the family budget and get our collective ass out of the final bit of our debt. (HA! We’ll never be out of debt…)

    I can say that I need to work on taking more time for the things I want to accomplish. I got a bit frustrated in the last three months of the year as I stopped working on my stuff. My writing production fell off sharply, and I know that I was to blame for it. But, I’m starting a new year, and it’s a new chance to correct old problems.

    Optimism can be a nice thing to have around.

  • The Ol’ Sick Kid Bit

    I had plans today, but the kid got sick. Well, she got sick at school and I had to go and pick her up. I mean, she woke up early and wasn’t feeling the best, but she said it was only a headache and she could deal with it. Then, when she got to school, she started feeling worse, and her teacher called me to say that I should come and pick her up.

    Which I did. And she didn’t look good when I got her. Real pale, and whimpering a little, too. Just a sad sack. When we got home, she took a nap right away. She never takes naps, so the fact that she took one leads me to believe that she actually wasn’t feeling good.

    As for my plans… they’re shot to hell. I got the laundry done, and I will get a blog out today. Yet, I doubt I will make it to my journal, and there was this rewrite of a flash piece that I wanted to complete.

    But… We just watched an old David Tennant Doctor Who episode. That was kind’a cool.

    But… I’m still not getting my work done.

    At some point I have to start asking myself if I’m being a good dad, or am I rationalizing my procrastination? You know, using the kid as an excuse.

    I feel like I should be doing more, creating more, and then I also have this feeling come over me that none of this really matters. It is a fool’s errand that I am on; somehow thinking that any of this amounts to something.

    If it gives me purpose? If it means something to me? Does that have value?

    You know, following my bliss only seems to lead me introspective questions.