|Image courtesy of Stuart Miles / FreeDigitalPhotos.net|
So I have started a blog.
(You know that. You're reading it now...)
And though I am excited and proud of myself for adding my voice to the blogosphere chorus, a small yet insistent part of me wonders, “What on earth have I written myself into?”
You see, blogging is no longer—if it ever was—a cute little way to indulge your interest in or ire toward a subject. Blogging, for the writer especially, is critical for a successful career. It provides a platform for your perspective, gives your readers insight to your slant on life, and proves your marketability beyond the opinions of your mom, best friend, and collection of house plants.
And here I thought I was blogging for fun.
This is not to say blogging is not fun. Inventing new topics to share or fresh slants on familiar ones is a challenge, a periodic dare to my gifts of persuasion, articulation, and imagination. And communing with fellow biblio- and logophiles is a joy unto itself.
Yet there are moments when the pressure to perform or write another entry overwhelms me, and I ask myself, “Why on earth did I do this now? Why didn’t I wait until I had a few entries pre-written? Why didn’t I do this after I started revising my book? Why didn’t I get my degree in Spanish and become an Interpreter for the U.N. like my high school profesora suggested? Why, oh why did I become a writer?”
And in those moments, I find to my greater surprise that the best answer is found on the blank page. It is found in that part of myself who seeks computer and Word, pencil and paper, or crayon and napkin in the interest of pouring out my heart for whosoever cares to listen. And once those questions are silenced, I can breathe and approach the first question with greater calm.
What have I written myself into? Only the words only know, and they only reveal their secrets page by arduous page. But only as I learn those secrets do I discover who I am and what exactly I have done.
So here is another page, another piece of me falling seamlessly into place.