I started this blog over a year ago. There have been weeks that I’ve posted nearly everyday, and months (even two in a row) when I haven’t posted at all. My topics have been all over the place and have included:
- A few recipes
- What I’m reading
- My love of food writing
- Things I come across that I want to share
- Some thoughts on parenting and family life: seasons, transitions, rituals, daily life
- A photography challenge in August
- An interview
- Snapshots (words and/or pictures) of moments in time with my young family.
All along, trying to figure out what this blog is all about, what it means to me, what purpose it serves in my life, wondering if it could possibly mean something to anyone else.
I’ve been distracted (rightly or wrongly) by:
- My family life
- Efforts at “real” non-blog writing through taking various writing classes
- Time spent feeling badly about myself for not being able to sit down and write a book now that I finally have everyone in school (aka as “shoulding all over myself”)
- My own self-consciousness (who am I to have a blog?)
- Technical difficulties
- Looking around at popular blogs with huge readership and advertising and/or gorgeous design and feeling small and not good enough
- Trying to figure out how (and if) to use social media to promote my blog (which can be time-consuming and frustrating when you’re learning. I am a Twitter misfit)
- Checking my stats compulsively after posting
A post today by Nina Badzin gave me pause. She wrote about admitting to herself that she is not (at the moment), an aspiring novelist, but a blogger (and a darned good one at that). Blogging in itself has been satisfying to her, helped her define her voice, resulted in connecting her with like-minded people, provided her with a platform to write and be read. She’s thinking, maybe it’s even enough.
I must confess that I entered the blogosphere sheepishly, with the belief that somehow blogging was not the same as, and less than, “real writing”. Over time, I’m discovering that blogging is kind if its own genre and that some people are really good at it. Some people are really good at constructing novels or researching and composing historical fiction. Blogging requires its own set of skills, talents, need for voice, a strong committment, a working knowledge of social media, not to mention some technical knowledge. What it shares with “real” writing is that no one cares if you stop writing your memoir or posting on your blog. It must be, along with a dose of discipline, driven by your need to write. And as Anne Lamott reassures repeatedly, if you stick with it, you will see over time, that truly, the writing is the reward.
Sitting down and writing a post is always, without fail, its own reward. I am always surprised to find out what I think once I start writing, and how good it feels to hunker down into my writing muscles to tell it. Lamott is right.
I have been fortunate enough to get some really lovely feedback from readers (you small but devoted bunch I am so appreciative). Recently, at a community event, I introduced myself to a neighbor I’ve never met, who absolutely stunned me by saying, “I just love your blog. I don’t really read blogs, but I read yours.” After I thanked her for making my day, my year, my life, I walked around elated. It may seem shallow or besides the point, what we’re not supposed to be focused on, but there it is. A damned close second-place-runner to the reward of writing: Someone actually reading what you wrote.
What do you think about the relationship between blogging and writing? Have any of you had the same conflict?