A friend of mine—a Renaissance man of sorts—writes a blog about fishing.
His latest post, entitled “The Right Stuff,” examines the equipment people need for their various hobbies and professions. Also a musician, this man likened fishing rods to guitars, as far as the selection of equipment based on one’s goals and skill levels goes.
While I know as little about casting a rod and reel as I do about playing the guitar, I found his post thought provoking. He discusses why a beginner shouldn’t begin with the most advanced—and often, most expensive—equipment and what considerations go into proper selection.
I know a fair number of golfers and have overheard my share of debate over the need for expensive equipment. My husband, a marathon runner, spends what he considers a lot of money to buy shoes and enter races and participate in running clubs. A cyclist friend pours his spare change into bikes and flying to Hawaii to watch the Ironman triathlon up close.
My friend’s blog got me thinking about my own hobbies.
In 1977 I got into crocheting. I spent about half of the $2.35 an hour I earned at the yarn store on acrylic yarn. Once I spent an exorbitant sum of $6.99 on a complete set of crochet hooks, which I still have but no longer use.
That’s it. Except for a couple of style guides, I don’t spend anything on my hobby. Perhaps it shows.
I suppose I could take up more hobbies, and then I could blog about those. Golf is out, as plaid does not become me. We’ve already established I lack musical and athletic talent, so neither a violin nor a tennis racket is an option.
I don’t care much for stamp collecting (sorry, Dad) or bird watching or scrapbooking.
As I look back on some of my most popular blog posts, I notice (and WordPress confirms) that the best stories came from travel experiences and mishaps.
Therefore, would it be reasonable to conclude that I’d be a better blogger if I had a bigger travel budget?
As I see it, my choice is either to buy more style guides (and new bookends!) or a plane ticket.
With any luck, things will go terribly wrong.
But every time I sat down to tap out what used to be a free-flowing daily ditty, my skin itched. My teeth clenched.
On Tuesday I had jotted a blog idea on the back of an envelope and had only to fill it out. This, you recall, was the day the nation’s policymakers approved the creation of a Super Congress of 12 members, to hammer out solutions to the federal budget crisis later in the year.
“Plumbers don’t get plumber’s block, and doctors don’t get doctor’s block; why should writers be the only profession that gives a special name to the difficulty of working, and then expects sympathy for it?”
A few days ago, I felt a bug coming on. My approach to illness is to beat it down with a club. So I kept working, then through the weekend, I kept all of my volunteer and social commitments, as Nothing nipped at my heels. By Sunday night, Nothing had beaten me into submission.
How will you honor the occasion, after digesting your daily dose of Word Nymph, of course?
This remarkable blogger, writing under the name of The Digital Cuttlefish, articulated graphically the challenges of keeping up with a daily blog. In a post entitled