I have done everything in my power to properly protest the idea of writing a blog. I don’t know why the idea repulsed me so much. I guess I just didn’t have any interest in following blogs myself. My heart always lied in writing books - even though I rarely read any of those either. Not that I don’t like books. I just don’t like making time for them.
“You should write a blog,” any old so-n-so would say.
I’d roll my eyes. “I want to write for a living - not for a hobby.”
Clearly blogs were only for hobbies and thus no money was to be had in them. Not that I want to write in hopes of making oodles of millions of dollars. But publishers and people pay for books. Who in the hell pays for a blog?
Apparently marketers do. That’s all fine and dandy but still, “the blog” just seemed SO unromantic. If you remove the “g” it just sounds like “blah.” It also feels really sterile. For example, you don’t hear of anyone ever cozying up to a good blog by the fire. The whole thing just wasn’t for me.
“You should write a blog,” another so-n-so would say. Except this so-n-so was actually in the publishing industry and was mentoring me on my way to becoming an author of books. And that’s the thing about mentors: they rarely tell you what you want to hear.
I crossed my arms, stomped my feet and pouted like a four year old who was just told they couldn’t have a Klondike bar until after they finished cleaning their room (which is about as far as I would go for one).
Except I had been “cleaning my room” for the last ten months (metaphor for writing the book)! And now I had to clean a whole other room (metaphor for the blog) in order to get that damn Klondike bar (metaphor for the published and successful book)?!
There’s only so many times you can hear a message before you cave and have to start listening to it. So fine. Fuck it. Whatever. Stupid world. I will write the freaking blog!
But how in the hell would I do this? I hardly had the interest in doing it. I barely had the time to do it. I didn’t know how my writing would translate to it.
With all of these obstacles swirling through my head, I began thinking of “Thomas The Train” and how he encouraged kids to not give up. Except later I realized that his name was actually “Thomas The Tank” and that I had been confusing him with “The Little Engine That Could.”
Alright, I’m not great with children’s books either. And the only kids that I’m not awkward around didn’t pay attention to these characters. (Side note: Why are they called “tanks” and “engines” instead of just “trains?” Weird.)
So I began researching other blogs, figuring out my own shtick and collaborating with some freakishly talented friends. And these friends seemed to be genuinely hopeful about it and totally excited for me.
Once things started to come to fruition, their excitement began to rub off on me. I realized that a blog can be WHATEVER I wanted it to be. It can be short or tall or fat or black or white or ridiculous or or ugly or musical or Jewish or whatever. I could do ANYTHING and if an audience liked it, they’d stick around.
I loved my time writing for OutFront Colorado. In four years, they practically never stifled my (sometimes odd) storytelling. They always gave me creative freedom. But even that freedom was confined to a word count (logistically so, of course). That’s why I wanted to write books. I could be one wordy motherfucker that way (oh, they also stifled my love cursing).
But even books are limited to mostly just words. Here in the blog, it can be words and photos and videos and whatever else I wanted. I can create and mold the entire thing, not just my part of the thing. This definitely had me excited. Actually if I’m going to be honest, it had me practically salivating all over my new favorite shirt.
In all of my new found enthusiasm, I began to feel a bit like that “The Little Engine That Could." I think. I’m not totally sure though because, again, I’ve never read it. I assume it is about a train that doesn’t think he can do something and then suddenly he can. Good stuff.
So here I am: once a person who thought they didn’t want to do it or couldn’t possibly do it. Now I am actually doing it and it looks awesome and I can’t wait to do more.
At this point, I may not have yet become the published book author I’d hoped to be. But if nothing else, I am officially now The Little Blogger That Could.
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