Once Upon A Time, not so very long ago (this afternoon, in fact), there was a girl named Betsy who was sitting in front of her computer desperately seeking a blog post.
Betsy strove mightily to put out a blog post at least once a week. But, alas, The Sickness had descended upon her and hit her and knocked her asunder for several weeks and so she flaileth.
And, lo, The Sickness had been a mighty and terrible foe, but Betsy had at last fought it into a corner and was now struggling to pick up her life again. Verily, she hath determined that she would in no way sink into a sea of snot and lethargy.
However, despite flailing mightily, this afternoon Betsy could find no blog to post. She rifled through the dim recesses of her mind, and yet could not chase a blog post from the thickets. She searched the air, and could not see a blog post flying overhead. She searched the depths of the wine-dark sea, and saw many creatures, but no blog post. Or at least, not a blog post that was obvious and easy to catch.
“Alas!” she cried, wrist to forehead, head flung back, “Whatever shall I do? If I do not have a blog post by this eve, I shall skip yet another week and will wake up in the morning feeling hatred towards myself and my poor uncreative mind!”
“Thou must not hateth thyself when a blog post dost not come, for lo, many blog posts hath come before, and many more will come in the future. Another will appear. Sometimes that is just the way things goeth.”
Startled, Betsy looked to her left and saw a large white rabbit dressed in the jaunty costume of a minstrel. His tri-cornered hat was decked with bells that jingled, and he was carrying a tambourine with ribbons upon it.
“Good day, sir,” she said. “I know you, do I not?”
“You do,” the rabbit affirmed. “For I am Sir Harold the Wise.”
“Sir Harold?” Betsy frowned, her mind much confused. “Art thou not the Guide on my Quest to become a successful independent author?”
“I art,” the rabbit nodded. “But just as Alice followed a White Rabbit to find Wonderland, I will also lead you to many strange places.”
“You wilt?” Betsy clapped her hands together in glee. “And wilt thou help me to find a blog post for this eventide? For, lo, I have searched everywhere within my brain and without, but one does not appear. At least, not one that is obvious and easy to catch.”
Sir Harold shook his tambourine. “T’would be my pleasure, my lady!”
“Such awesomeness wouldst be much appreciated!”
Together the two sat at the computer looking through files. Then they wandered into Betsy’s mind, as Sir Harold was much familiar with the landscape. They searched the fields and woodlands. Finally, they dove into the deep lake at the center of Betsy’s mind to see what they could see.
But, lo, although they saw many fine visions and ferocious creatures and a few things that really cannot be spoken of aloud, they did not see a blog post. Or at least they did not see a blog post obvious and easy to catch.
At last, winded and burdened, they returned to the computer.
“Alas, I see nary a blog post!” Betsy cried. “Whatever shall I do, Sir Harold? I must needs give up!”
And Sir Harold raised a finger and looked exceedingly stern. “Just because a blog post is not obvious and easy to catch dost not mean it is not there. Thou must not quit. Quitters never win, and winners never quit.”
Betsy pouted and crossed her arms. “So sayest thou.”
“Indeed I do, my lady!” Sir Harold shook his tambourine again. “Dost thou have any thoughts at all? If so, please tell me what they are.”
Betsy frowned. “Mayhap I should write about excuses and how I have so many of them? Or how I have anger, or, indeed, feelings of woe towards my own poor person? In truth, I have many feelings that I do not express.”
“That I doubt, my lady.” Now Sir Harold shook his head, making the bells on his hat ring. “And, lo, thou didst just complain last week. More would be whining.”
“True.” Betsy thought. “Mayhap I should write about my feline companions and the roundworms that do not go away?”
“Nay, for I fear many will not care for such a subject.”
“True.” Betsy thought and then snapped her fingers. “Ah hah!” she exclaimed.
“What seest thou?” Sir Harold demanded.
“I shall write about this adventure, my friend!” Betsy told him. “I shall write about my search for a blog post and how I did not find one, and how you came to help, and how we did not find one.”
Sir Harold thought and nodded. “Mayhap t’would be best. But what will be the moral of the story? For even a lowly blog post must have some kind of a point.”
Betsy smiled upon him and opened a blank page on her computer. “That even when you think you have not found something, oft times you have. It’s just that you do not know that you have found it and so you walk away.”
“And that a blog post can be whatever you want it to be, even if it is, in the end, about nothing,” Sir Harold added.
And Betsy doth smile.
“Indeed, Sir Harold. Indeed.”
