Writing...

Blogging. Ever since Robin Hobb wrote her piece on how writers should be getting on with the act of writing, not messing around on journaling, I've been struggling with a thread of guilt. Especially since certain people like maaseru have pointed to the article, and said, "It's absolutely right." And I think guiltily: "if I spend x number of minutes writing LJ instead of fic...."

But it isn't a simply syllogism. I can write a ten-minute LJ entry, easily, and do it often. I can't write fic in segments ten minutes. Usually it takes ten minutes to figure out what my scene is and where I'm going with it. Or sometimes I can, but it isn't the same sort of ten minutes. Fiction has its own parameters.

When there was no blogging in my life or anyone else's, I still kept journals. The difference is that no one but me saw them. (Well, except that time my husband started reading my pre-marriage journals to see what I'd said about him, and what a bad idea that was.) I spent daily time in writing letters to friends - I had dozens of pen-pals. I was in apazines. (Many apazines.) It was all the same blogging impulse.

I remind myself of this, when I find myself feeling guilt for writing in LJ and enjoying it. I see no reason to decide that one form of writing is better than another - any more than one kind of reading is better than another, or one kind of movie or TV show over another.

LJ is fun, and it's a stress reliever, and right now it's a much-needed lifeline to the world outside my apartment. Of course I love it.

sartorias's LJ got me thinking about this again. I'm trying to live without guilt about the things I love to do: it makes sense that some find LJ a pleasure in itself, and other people don't.

Sunday...

Read another Barrowman interview, mostly notable because it's the first time I've seen him publicly refer to Scott as his husband.

It was a good day: lmondegreen came over and we watched Doctor Who, then maaseru and maaboroshi joined us and we watched "Port Hope", which is the first episode of Space Rangers, which we had liked when it was on in the 1990s. The characters were as personable as I remembered; the setting and situation extremely interesting; and the script rather shockingly full of clichés. The characters reminded me of Sgt. Fury and his Howling Commandos, always a good thing.

And the young rookie soldier, Danny, was an nice analogue to the young soldier Captain Jack Harkness must once have been.

I went along for the drive when maaseru drove lmondegreen home, which felt odd, since it was my first time out of the apartment since coming back from the hospital. I felt a little queasy in the car; don't seem to have much strength yet. But. It was good. In some ways it seemed almost like a normal day. It wasn't, but it was closer than I've had in a long time.

Which is a nice thought.