Michele asks, “Why do you blog?”

In all honesty, there are some days when I look at the WRITE screen in WordPress and think, “You should be working on stuff to submit somewhere, not playing at journalism,” but the thing is, despite my love of the written word, and despite all the best intentions and a small fortune invested in spiffy looking blank books over the years, I'm really bad at keeping a personal diary. I blog, at least in part, because having an audience, no matter how small, makes me accountable to some external force.

Then, too, there's my Productivity Rule: I must do ONE PRODUCTIVE THING every day. Writing in a paper journal doesn't count, but a blog entry does. I'm not sure why. I guess it's the accountability issue again.

So part of why I blog is that I'm not disciplined enough to keep a normal diary.

But the other part is that these unedited glimpses into my daily life are a form of connection to other people. I've had so many interesting conversations, as a result of writing here, or following a thread elsewhere, and it's helping me to be less shy.

And I really am basically shy.

Truly.

And then there's the “writing practice” reason. Even if I'm not working on something specific, throwing some words on this virtual page helps me improve my writing skills, helps spark ideas for things that I CAN submit to actual literary journals, helps me find new directions, and new ways of saying things.

Mostly, though, I do it because it's fun.

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I'm in a bit of a pissy and ranty mood today, so it's been a challenge to come up with items for the Happiness Challenge, and yet, I've managed to find two.

First, I'm happy because I have friends who not only listen, but actually try to help, when I'm in pissy and ranty moods.

Second, I'm happy because I posted a piece of flash-fiction on a critique board. Openly inviting critique is somehow different than posting to my own blog, though, I'm open to critique on anything at MoonChilde.com, as long as said critique is constructive.

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Maybe it's post-thon burnout, but about the only thing I'm even happy for today is that I don't have a formal schedule, so could take a nap at 1:30 that ended up lasting four hours.

Oy.

I'm uninspired. I'm tired. And I'm not going to push myself toward new and cool content for a couple of days.

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I've received the email confirming the total funds that you all helped me raise for Habitat for Humanity's Women Build program – when I added in the matching funds, the total came to $906, which is pretty damned cool, when you consider that my original goal was $500. Thank you for that. (It also included all your email addresses).

Sometime tomorrow, you'll be receiving an email from blogathon.org with donation instructions. If you have any trouble at all please email me.

People have asked if I'll be doing this again next year.

The answer is, “Hell, yeah!”

(A note to the people to whom I made pledges: I'll be doing those at the end of August, because that's the best time for our budget. Just so you know.)

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TreeSurfer asked these questions of Zazzafooky, and I liked them, so I'm blatantly stealing them, and providing my own answers. Yeah, I'm evil that way. :)

1. You have unlimited funds you can spend it on either, a decorative makeover for your house, a 2 month dream vacation for you and your family. Which do you choose and Why?
   The house makeover. There are so many things we keep saying we'll do, and then we don't. And vacations are nice, but two months? A bit much.
2. Would you rather have a maid clean your house twice a week, or a full-time cook?
   Oh, the maid, definitely. Not that a cook wouldn't be lovely, mind you, but, I really hate vaccuming, and scrubbing toilets is NOT my thing.
3. You're going to be locked in a room for a week. What five books will you take with you?A thick college-ruled spiral notebook, so I could write when I chose not to read, The EightThe Mists of Avalon, by Marian Zimmer Bradley, for much the same reasons, and because I love the story, Complete Tales & Poems
4. Would you rather be blind or deaf?
   Well, books come in audio and braille formats, and I'd die without music, so, blind.
5. For one month you will be without use of your car or your computer, which would you give up
   My computer takes me to more places than any car ever will. Enough said.

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Note to Self:

Your spiffy new computer glasses do absolutely nothing for your eye strain and headaches if you do not take them out of the box and wear them.

That is all.

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We went to bed right after I clicked “publish” on my last Blogathon entry at 8:01 this morning (by 'this' morning I mean Sunday, not Monday). I was up at eleven AM, hungry and with dogs needing a bathroom run, but went back to bed at two, and slept til seven. At that point I made Fuzzy get up and feed the dogs.

Woke up again at eight, showered, had food, watched a bit of a tivo'd ER, recoded my blog – my old template had never been 100% IE friendly, and the volume of posts from yesterday made it 0% IE friendly, so I found another WP theme I liked, and tested it on FireFox AND IE, and I think it's actually nicer than the old one.

To catch up with the Happiness Challenge:

08/05: The friend I wrote about in that “Blood Sisters” piece loved the story, and we've been emailing and catching up.

08/06: Wow, all these cool people commented on my blogathon posts – it was so great having you all take that journey with me!

08/07: Sleep, blissful sleep. Sleep never feels better than when you haven't had any for a while. Also a hot shower can be miraculous, and not merely a thing of convenience.

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8:00 AM
Grand Prairie, TX

Dear Readers:

First, thank you to those of you who pledged. You can see the full list on my campaign page.

Second, thank you to those of you who sent pictures, commented throughout the night, made me laugh on IM, and were generally supportive.

Third, thanks to Suki, monitor extraordinaire.

Fourth, thanks to my fellow bloggers, especially those of you who also made it all the way through.

Finally, thank you to folks who read, but didn't post. I'm sure that next year, you'll be willing to actually pledge money. Or at least comment.

There will be more formal acknowledgements in a day or so – right now I barely know MY name, let alone any of yours.

If you haven't pledged yet, because you wanted to make sure I finished the blogathon, this would be a good time. If not, well, pledging will remain open through Monday. There's still time.

And on that note, I'm going to bed for a very long time.

Exeunt, singing:
Sometimes I live in the country
Sometimes I live in the town
Sometimes I have a great notion
to jump into the river and drown
Irene goodnight, Irene goodnight
Goodnight Irene, Goodnight Irene
Iâ™ll see you in my dreams.

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As this blogathon begins to wind down, I'm thinking about not houses, but gardens. One of the things that my family always did was have something alive, something growing, even if it was only a potted plant, in every place we've ever lived.

When I was six, I had a pet Venus Flytrap, and while she was nothing like Audrey II, I enjoyed feeding her the occasional bit of raw hamburger. My mother had seasonal bouquets on the table all the time, and usually had some kind of container garden if we didn't have a yard. When I was nine, I grew a wild crop of marigolds as tall as I was.

Since my grandparents died, our tradition has been to mix some of their ashes into each of our gardens, both to give them a form of eternity, and as a kind of blessing for our home soil. Family and home are intertwined, places and people intermixed.

We're neither pure nor wise nor good;
We'll do the best we know;
We'll build our house, and chop our wood,
And make our garden grow.
And make our garden grow.*

*”Make Our Garden Grow,” Candide

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On the day I went away
Goodbye
Was all I had to say
Now I
I want to come again and stay
Oh my
Smile, and that will mean I may
'Cause I've seen blue skies
Through the tears in my eyes
And I realize I'm going home*

In May of 1998, after spending my third South Dakota winter fighting chronic bronchitis so serious I was on disability for two months, my mother invited me back to California to work for her once more, and I took the offer, because I honestly believed it was the best thing for me.

Ultimately, it was, but the first six weeks I was there were total hell, first because the apartment that was supposed to be ready for us, was NOT, and second because it was the first time in our marriage that Fuzzy and I had been separated, and it wasn't just for a night or two.

Until Fuzzy arrived with the moving truck in mid-June, I'd felt homeless, and even though we went back to a tiny one-bedroom apartment that first night, I knew that it was home, because he was there.

(Yeah, I get mushy when I'm tired.)

*”I'm Going Home,” The Rocky Horror Picture Show

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