Even now, as I’m doing something I tell myself is good – writing… (hell, not only writing, but writing a post two days in a row) I feel guilty.
You see, by writing this, I’m actually cheating on my other writing. But, in my defense, compared to my other writing, the one I’m cheating on, this kind of writing – a blog post – is easy. A blog post can be about anything I want. It can be as long or as short as I want it to be. And, if I can’t make my point with words, I just throw in a picture, you know, because it’s worth a thousand words, oh, and for irony.
I suppose you’d like to know what this “other writing” is that I am so eager to avoid. Well, I might as well tell you too, I’ve told everyone else in the whole world. One of those intentions I spoke of in yesterday’s post, was to actually enter a writing contest, and not just any contest, no, I had to go and be specific about it. I am going to enter an original piece in the Erma Bombeck Writing Competition. The deadline for which is February 14th which is rapidly approaching.
Not to sound cocky, but as writing goes, this really isn’t that much of a stretch for me. For years, I’ve written letters to family, and notes to friends, and sometimes even blog posts that people think are pretty funny. “You’re like a modern day Erma Bombeck” they say chuckling. So what’s the problem you say? The problem is that this competition, like any competition I suppose – has rules! They want this piece not only first and foremost to be funny, and to have the voice of Erma, (you know “hook em with the lead, hold em with laughter and exit with a quip they won’t forget”) but worst of all, it is limited to 450 words! 450 words?!? I can’t even effectively tell you what I had for breakfast in less than 450 words – well, that may be a slight exaggeration, but exaggeration is what makes things funny…. and wordy… way too wordy. Gah, I’m screwed.
The piece I’ve chosen to enter, started out as a three page hilarious but factual recounting of THE WORST Mother’s Day I have ever experienced. The story is practically family legend, people who know me, often ask me to retell the story to their friends – it’s hilarious. But back to the point, I have to cut it down from three pages to 450 words.
So, that is why, at 11:30 pm, I am punishing myself by eating Oreos and drinking wine, and I feel less guilty about that than I do about dilly dallying around with this cheap and easy blog post…