The cure for blogger fatigue by Leanne Dyck

Weather report from the wet coast:  all the snow is gone.

I wonder if we'll have a green Christmas?

I think, from time to time, all bloggers face "the question"--should they continue to blog?

Years ago, I turned to blogging as a way to write regularly and be accountable to others to maintain that commitment. It worked and it continues to work.

I'm a passionate blogger. I love to share my writing with interested readers; I enjoy networking with authors; I reveal in my ability to help promote others in the publishing industry; I like to re-read old posts to see how much I've grown, and... The advantages far outweigh the disadvantages. But there are disadvantages. At times it can feel like eating too much chocolate cake -- one more piece and I'll throw up. I face the cold screen and struggle to find a topic.  Or worse know that what I've written is boring or junk or (supply your favourite adjective). But I keep going and soon my fingers are once again merrily dancing on the keyboard. Remaining a motivated blogger may mean making a change to my blog's format, choosing to blog less, becoming more engaged with other bloggers or... 

Should I continue to blog? I think that's an important question to face. Remind yourself that there is more than one way to promote your writing or to keep writing. You don't have to blog... Blogging is just a tool -- use it if it works for you.



Sharing my author journey...

Hearing Gryla's story (short story) by Leanne Dyck

I often visited with my grandparents before and after school. They lived only a few houses away. After school, one afternoon, Afi and I sat at the kitchen table. He shuffled the cards so we could start a game of gin rummy.

“Afi, what’s a,” I tried my hand at the Icelandic word, “grey-la?”

He jerked like he was about to be hit, like the word had startled him, and I hoped he wasn’t too disappointed in my poor pronunciation.

“GREE-lah?”

“Right.”

“Where did you hear that word, Elskan?”

“From Mom. She was on the phone with Aunty Lil. She said she felt like a gre… a gra… a...”

“GREE-lah.” He said the word slowly, and I repeated it.

His thick eyebrows wove together. He looked like an approaching storm. “You listened in on a private conversation?”

“N-- Yes. But I couldn’t help it. She was talking too loud.”

He laughed, and I knew I wasn’t in trouble—at least not with him.

“What’s a Gryla?”

“Gryla is an old woman who lives up in the mountains in Iceland. When children are bad, she steals them and eats—"

“Oli,” my amma scolded, charging into the kitchen. “You’re scaring her.”

I’m not sure how many spooky tales Amma saved me from, but she didn’t save me from the old woman. Gryla haunted me for forty years—filling my nights with shivers and shakes. Until one fateful morning, she yelled at me. “Write my story!”

Having no choice, I held the pen as it flew across the page.

Later that day I shared the story with my writing group and they helped me transform it into…

Something Good to Eat

Sharing my author journey