I blog verbally. I’ll tell the same story to a dozen people if I think it’s funny or interesting. I come from a long line of story-tellers. My father would sit for hours and tell stories about himself and others. He’d tell the same stories over and over again—a little differently everytime, like cooking a favorite recipe and changing the spices slightly with each rendition.
That being said, blogging in writing shouldn’t be that much different, but I hesitated for a long time. I worried about using up all my snark and smart-alleck on the blog and not having any left for my books. Snark, smart-alleck, irony, and revelling in the silliness/stupidity of the world form the backbones of my books. They’re the reason I write. They’re the magic weapon with which I survived a very odd life.