I’ll keep this short.
That’s usually what I say to myself when I sit down to compose a blog post. Something in the region of 300 to 400 words. Nothing more than that, unless I’m talking about a really major or personal topic. And yet, when I start typing, my fingers develop a mind of their own.
Paragraphs later, I find myself staring at a 900 word behemoth, looking not so much to lure in the reader as smother them with verbosity. There are certain topics, such as my fitness history, that were only meant to cover one or two posts, but turned into mini sagas. I just like including details when I tell a story. Small details. Unnecessary details. To me, they help set the scene, to build up the world.
It’s especially difficult to be economical with words when talking about my history. Perhaps because I haven’t discussed my past in so much detail before. I’m not much of a conversationalist, and when telling a story, I always feel like I’m droning and that the other person is fighting to stay interested (or feign interest, as the case may be). Writing seems like a better outlet for discussing my past because my readers don’t have to deal with my boring voice, so I can pile on the descriptions without any inhibition.
The end result weaves together a richly colored tapestry (I hope), but what should have been a wall hanging ends up a mural. Take this post, for example. I had wanted to write a 100 word post on brevity, and how it’s something I intend to practice in my future writings. Yet here I sit, almost 300 words in, refusing to give up the keyboard.
It’s probably best to wrap up now before things get too unwieldy, and focus instead on my next post.
I’ll keep it short.