meLOVE: feeling writer's itch

I wish I was a more eloquent writer. Or at least more consistent. I can pull off a decent bit of prose every now and again but not every post seems to have that flair that I crave.

My dear friend Laura of The Photography of Laura Jane told me she's working on some writing. "I used to write..." I confessed, somewhat wistfully. I have 2 novels in progress, I have a bounty of short stories that have never been laid on anyone, I have poems and postcard prose for everything from angry rants to sappy romance... I've been published before - letters to the editor, school publications, a few other random spots. I'm not tooting my own horn too loudly but yes, I can write.

After spending several weeks pouring every ounce of creativity into composing (with diplomatic tact, political correctness, sprinkles of sardonic wit, and statements of irony) what may have singularly been the most difficult piece of writing/letter I've tackled in my life, my husband reads it, kisses my cheek and says, "That was amazing." Then he confesses, "I should write more, too."

So why don't we write more? The answer is simple: We. Don't. Know. Life has NEVER been so busy that I have been completely unable to find a means of being verbose, and Bill is a funny guy but never writes his material down. He likes reading blogs. He reads skateboarding blogs. He loves this fashion blog. He reads mine. (Hi, Bill!) And I've been bugging him for a while to start his own blog. It could be called, The Photographer's Widower, or something apt like that. Now I figure the two of us ought to just go ahead and start a blog together. Bill and Hope, Hope and Bill. Bilope. Hopill. Prose. Politics. Poetry. Pictures. I may have to start one up and add him as a contributor - he seemed to not understand why he has never been able to publish a comment on my blog.

UPDATED:  We have a blog.  Now, to see if Bill replies...