I really, really want to be a writer when I grow up.
If there is a way that I can earn decent bread writing what I want to write, that would be a dream come true. Trying to find a way to make this dream a reality has robbed me of time and opportunity to enjoy so much of my daily reality. I’ve been totally wrapped up in the what if’s. If you’ve been reading my posts for a while, you’ll know that this blog has changed in many ways as I try to figure out how to make money blogging. I’m writing today to apologize to all of you.
I’ve become so consumed with making a living, I forgot about how much I need to write. I’ve been writing what I thought would make commercial sense, and constantly editing my own impulses and ideas. I seem to be preoccupied with an audience I don’t have. Concern over certain people reading this, and perhaps judging the content has outweighed authenticity and truth. If people find this blog, and read these posts, I want them to love it. Or hate it. I don’t want ambivalence. Frankly, I need to go back to writing just for me. Or for my kids when they grow up, so that they have a bit of me left to consider. I can’t write for anyone else in this place.
In trying to churn out material, I have learned that writing to fulfil a post quota is a real chore. Don’t get me wrong, such content has a place, but that place is not here. This will never be a blog with daily posts, unless I get a lot better at taking pictures. Here I’ll just try to keep it legit. I assume I’m right about you, yes? You don’t need to read daily posts from where I share a bunch of links. You want to read the meat. The real thoughts, feelings and ideas that are swimming around in this big red melon ‘o mine.
I do want to write books and create other stimulating experiences. I want to bring you interesting stuff from time to time, but I want that stuff to be from sponsors that I have personally curated. I won’t promise to skip on running ads, a girl’s gotta eat, but I won’t write posts about crap I don’t believe in. Not here. Not like this.
I think I need to thank Jon for raising the bar way high. I don’t even know this guy, but I found his blog, Black Hockey Jesus, a couple of months ago, and he made me feel dirty. He writes with such vivid beauty, and just the right amount of I-don’t-give-a-fuck, that he made me sit back and take a look around. I felt like a sell out. Maybe I’m being a little harsh, but the brain space I’ve given to how to make money seems to be completely defeating the purpose of writing in the first place.
Every single night, no matter who I sleep beside, I go to bed lonely. The only thing making this loneliness bearable is knowing that coming to terms with my ultimate solitude is the secret to being able to face life head on. Accepting that I am ultimately alone with my own juice motivates me to try to share as much of it as I can, while I can. The only thing that lifts me from that before bedtime loneliness, even for the briefest of moments, is hearing the soft rustling of my son as he sleeps in his bed across the room. He is the only part of me that lives outside my body. He is a part of me, which means I am no longer as solitary.
Writing has opened the valve and allowed me to share the exclusive experience of my existence. The most amazing side effect has been realizing that so many of you can share these feelings. So many of you can relate. This ability to connect, this opportunity to share, is more motivating than the pursuit of the almighty dollar.
I’m sorry I underestimated you. I’m sorry I took you for granted. Let’s have a re-start shall we? A do-over always works for my 8 year old, and for her father and I who live a passionate version of “Who’s the Boss” every single day. If I can just tweak these knobs and clear away the unfocused doodles of the last few months, we can really get into the shit.
I can hardly wait.