What is the purpose of a blog?
I remember way back when, asking a friend, "What the hell is a blog?" She explained it's like a diary or something similar where you tell people out in cyberspace your thoughts, experiences, etc. and they can comment back. I thought... huh. Then did nothing with it because I had no need.
Fast forward to 2009 when Playing for First was published. I bought a domain and using a template, designed my website. I posted my goings-on there. But then I thought, hmm... would readers be more apt to read a blog? So, like other authors, I started a blog. Once I did, I was never sure the limitations I should put on the posts. Should it be about my writing? Yes. Should I talk about other fun stuff? Yeah. But what about my home life? Where do you draw the line? I decided to err on the side of caution and keep things pretty general. I remember commenting to another author once when talking about my own blog: "I have no idea who reads this s***." Occasionally, I'd get a comment or a reader would come up to me at GCLS and say, "I saw on your blog..." But I had no real feel if I was on the "right" track. I watched what other authors wrote and still wasn't sure of myself.
Well, tonight, that stops. Tonight, I write about what is close to my heart and not worry if it's right or wrong or how others view it. I write for me and will continue to do so for the next several months. If anything, it will be a catharsis.
Monday, my dad had a chest x-ray because his heart doctor didn't like what he was hearing. At all. By the time my parents got home, there was a message on their phone. There is a mass in his left lung. I went to the pulmonologist with him Tuesday. The mass is into the chest wall. Wednesday, he had a CT scan. Next Tuesday, he goes in for a biopsy.
My dad has smoked almost his entire life, since the age of seven. He grew up in a period when it was considered cool--the 1940s. No Surgeon General warnings. No dire predictions as to how it would affect your health. Of course over the years, things changed. Doctors did become aware of the dangers of tobacco use. My father tried quitting on numerous occasions, especially in recent years. But nicotine is a hard addiction to break. Especially smoking the hard stuff like my dad does.
Even though I've been worried for quite some time, it's still a shock to your system when facing what we think he's facing. We of course won't know for certain until after the biopsy. But I don't think it's a good sign when a doctor uses words like "I don't like what I'm hearing," "This is not good," and "it's very probable it's cancer."
My dad and I are very close. I've always been more like his youngest son than his only daughter. This week, things keep flashing in my mind like going fishing with him as a kid and having him tell me, "Sis, you have to be very quiet or the fish will hear you and stay away." When I got older, I realized it was his way of keeping his daughter from chattering nonsense while fishing. I was an unusual child in that when we'd visit other Air Force buddies, rather than go and play with the kids, I'd prefer to stay out and listen to and talk to the adults. My dad always allowed it.
Because of his love of history, I learned a love for history, especially World War II and Civil War history. We'd talk about Normandy and the great odds the Allied soldiers faced there. We'd talk about Hitler and his generals. About Eisenhower and Patton. About the concentration camps. About the battles. And I became enthralled with hearing about Lee and Grant and the Civil War battlefields. About Chancellorsville, Gettysburg. The ineptitude of McClellan. About Lincoln who quickly became my favorite President.
My dad taught me my love of sports. I remember watching the Chicago Bears on a little black and white TV and deciding Dick Butkus was my favorite player. I kept questioning my dad until I understood the various calls the officials made. Because my dad served in the Air Force at Wright Patterson AFB, he'd get tickets to the Cincinnati Reds games during the height of the Big Red Machine. My brother and I would go down with him to as many games as we could. It's only fitting that Pete Rose broke the all-time hits record on my dad's birthday. We'd also discuss how, if a woman could play on a professional men's team, it'd be Major League baseball.
I fell in love with old black and white movies because of my dad. Movies like The Ghost and Mrs. Muir with Gene Tierney. Claudette Colbert in Since You Went Away. Jimmy Stewart in It's a Wonderful Life....
I started thinking about it and realized how much all this influenced my writing with Playing for First and Two for the Show and Amy Perry playing first base for the Reds. With my most recent release, Survived by Her Longtime Companion, I called on that love for old movies and movie stars when writing about the character of Daphne DeMonet.
All of these snippets of my 50 years with my dad have been running through my mind.
Phyllis is facing surgery in February after abnormal test results. We won't know until after that surgery what the outcome will be, but there's a very good chance there will be further surgery. Of course I'm praying for the best, but at the same time I'm very worried--for my dad and my wife.
This has been a tough week and I anticipate tougher ones ahead. I hope to be strong for my mom who is understandably taking this extremely hard. She's also not in the best of health. I hope to be strong for Phyllis. In the meantime, I'm turning to what has given me solace in life--my writing. Whether it's to blog or to work on my next book, From Third to Home.
So... what is the purpose of a blog? I finally decided it really doesn't matter.
Fast forward to 2009 when Playing for First was published. I bought a domain and using a template, designed my website. I posted my goings-on there. But then I thought, hmm... would readers be more apt to read a blog? So, like other authors, I started a blog. Once I did, I was never sure the limitations I should put on the posts. Should it be about my writing? Yes. Should I talk about other fun stuff? Yeah. But what about my home life? Where do you draw the line? I decided to err on the side of caution and keep things pretty general. I remember commenting to another author once when talking about my own blog: "I have no idea who reads this s***." Occasionally, I'd get a comment or a reader would come up to me at GCLS and say, "I saw on your blog..." But I had no real feel if I was on the "right" track. I watched what other authors wrote and still wasn't sure of myself.
Well, tonight, that stops. Tonight, I write about what is close to my heart and not worry if it's right or wrong or how others view it. I write for me and will continue to do so for the next several months. If anything, it will be a catharsis.
Monday, my dad had a chest x-ray because his heart doctor didn't like what he was hearing. At all. By the time my parents got home, there was a message on their phone. There is a mass in his left lung. I went to the pulmonologist with him Tuesday. The mass is into the chest wall. Wednesday, he had a CT scan. Next Tuesday, he goes in for a biopsy.
My dad has smoked almost his entire life, since the age of seven. He grew up in a period when it was considered cool--the 1940s. No Surgeon General warnings. No dire predictions as to how it would affect your health. Of course over the years, things changed. Doctors did become aware of the dangers of tobacco use. My father tried quitting on numerous occasions, especially in recent years. But nicotine is a hard addiction to break. Especially smoking the hard stuff like my dad does.
Even though I've been worried for quite some time, it's still a shock to your system when facing what we think he's facing. We of course won't know for certain until after the biopsy. But I don't think it's a good sign when a doctor uses words like "I don't like what I'm hearing," "This is not good," and "it's very probable it's cancer."
My dad and I are very close. I've always been more like his youngest son than his only daughter. This week, things keep flashing in my mind like going fishing with him as a kid and having him tell me, "Sis, you have to be very quiet or the fish will hear you and stay away." When I got older, I realized it was his way of keeping his daughter from chattering nonsense while fishing. I was an unusual child in that when we'd visit other Air Force buddies, rather than go and play with the kids, I'd prefer to stay out and listen to and talk to the adults. My dad always allowed it.
Because of his love of history, I learned a love for history, especially World War II and Civil War history. We'd talk about Normandy and the great odds the Allied soldiers faced there. We'd talk about Hitler and his generals. About Eisenhower and Patton. About the concentration camps. About the battles. And I became enthralled with hearing about Lee and Grant and the Civil War battlefields. About Chancellorsville, Gettysburg. The ineptitude of McClellan. About Lincoln who quickly became my favorite President.
My dad taught me my love of sports. I remember watching the Chicago Bears on a little black and white TV and deciding Dick Butkus was my favorite player. I kept questioning my dad until I understood the various calls the officials made. Because my dad served in the Air Force at Wright Patterson AFB, he'd get tickets to the Cincinnati Reds games during the height of the Big Red Machine. My brother and I would go down with him to as many games as we could. It's only fitting that Pete Rose broke the all-time hits record on my dad's birthday. We'd also discuss how, if a woman could play on a professional men's team, it'd be Major League baseball.
I fell in love with old black and white movies because of my dad. Movies like The Ghost and Mrs. Muir with Gene Tierney. Claudette Colbert in Since You Went Away. Jimmy Stewart in It's a Wonderful Life....
I started thinking about it and realized how much all this influenced my writing with Playing for First and Two for the Show and Amy Perry playing first base for the Reds. With my most recent release, Survived by Her Longtime Companion, I called on that love for old movies and movie stars when writing about the character of Daphne DeMonet.
All of these snippets of my 50 years with my dad have been running through my mind.
Phyllis is facing surgery in February after abnormal test results. We won't know until after that surgery what the outcome will be, but there's a very good chance there will be further surgery. Of course I'm praying for the best, but at the same time I'm very worried--for my dad and my wife.
This has been a tough week and I anticipate tougher ones ahead. I hope to be strong for my mom who is understandably taking this extremely hard. She's also not in the best of health. I hope to be strong for Phyllis. In the meantime, I'm turning to what has given me solace in life--my writing. Whether it's to blog or to work on my next book, From Third to Home.
So... what is the purpose of a blog? I finally decided it really doesn't matter.
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