Type, type, type.
Delete, delete, delete.
Type, type, type.
*Sigh with frustration.*
Backspace, backspace. Select All. Delete.
That, in a nutshell is what blogging has been like for me for the last year.
Yeah, the last YEAR. 12 months. 365 days.
In the beginning it was fun because I didn’t know what the hell I was doing and just threw stuff out there to see what stuck. I think I did some of my best—and funniest—posts in the first 12 months of this blog.
And then something happened. In fact, a whole lot of somethings happened.
For one thing, I got bitter about my job for a while. And bitterness + snark doesn’t end up being too funny. It’s just Bitter Squared.
I got busy with Previously Mentioned Job That Made Me Bitter. And although I had tons of posts swirling around in my head, I didn’t really have the time to get them out. Shit, we’re friends here right? Let’s be honest: I didn’t MAKE the time. So some of them got lost in the flotsam of my brain. Others were filed away in my drafts folder on WordPress, destined to die a slow, hidden death.
In fact, right now, there are 45 drafts sitting there. 45! Some are just clever titles and I figure someday I’ll have the perfect post to go with them. There’s a series of drafts with an opening sentence. Or even just a few words. I actually have a handful of drafts that are about 1,000 words or so—but I can’t figure out how I want to end them, so rather than muddle through or force it, I do nothing. I wait. And I hope. I hope I get the inspiration I need to write that last god-damned sentence or paragraph or in one case, just a few words.
I’m amazed that I’m managed to eek out 264 posts—but looking back, I wish I either spent more time on about 100 of them or didn’t write them to begin with. I’m better than some of the crap I’ve published here.
The other something that happened is that I’ve felt compelled to figure out what my niche is.
I’m not a mommy blogger (I don’t have kids and there aren’t plans to do so). I used to sort of be a doggy blogger, but I haven’t even written much about Gracie—or dog shows, or dog show people—here lately. And what’s sad about that is that it’s a fucking goldmine of great stories. I’m not a midlife blogger—although the argument could be made that at 40, technically I am. I’m not a food blogger, and I don’t write about cocktails (much).
I write about whatever happens to be on my radar at the moment. Sometimes it’s me, sometimes it’s work or my dog. I write about the exceptionally bad reality TV shows I watch, the books I’ve been reading, and a host of random topics that amuse me. Like my rants about Costco.
I don’t know what kind of blogger that makes me. And does it matter?
Also? At some point I started to self-censor. Even before I type a single word, I’ve edited myself. I’m not sure why. I think part of it is because I just don’t want to put too much out there about The Job That Used To Make Me Bitter, arguments at home or any of the other landmines you can trigger when blogging. There’s too much crap going on with everyone else—why would you come here to read about MY crap?
My husband—god love him for this—tells friends, co-workers, acquaintances, the dude at Starbucks, anyone who listens—that his wife has a blog and “It’s-amazing-and-oh-my-god-you-need-to-read-her-she-cracks-my-shit-up!” (No, really, he doesn’t talk like a 13-year-old-girl, but that’s how I like to imagine it). So I never want to put him in the position of walking into a meeting or an event and have someone walk up to him and say, “Dude, that was a douche move on your part. No wonder she’s pissed at you!” Plus, you know, someday he might want to be President of the United States. Or I might. (Okay, stop laughing.)
I’m mad at myself because I’ve gotten hung up on stats and all that other crap. There’s a lot about that online this week, and it resonated with me because I got caught up in what this blog isn’t instead of what it is. I’ve been paralyzed because I hesitated to write anything, and then I felt so compelled to post something—anything—even if it wasn’t something I was proud of.
Don’t worry—I’m not taking myself—or this blog—so seriously. In fact, it’s the opposite. I’m trying to relax. Enjoy the Zen of Blogging and all that shit. I am so grateful for the readers who come here regularly, who comment and who have gotten to know me (and me you) through this blog.
I’m trying to write more and delete less. Isn’t that the first rule of writing? Just write; don’t edit.
I may hit publish less frequently, but that’s not a bad thing.