It has come to my attention that I have set standards way too high for myself based on others’ successes. This is not a new feeling – I care way too much about what other people are doing and putting forth too much effort in an attempt to imitate them. Allow me to explain…
The epitome of the blogs with which I fill my downtime star, for the most part, published authors that have abandoned the standard 9-to-5 in order to perfect their craft and focus on their next literary venture. Good for them – GREAT for them. I wish I had that kind of talent/luck. These folks, however, also have plenty of time to compose interesting, humorous, well-written works on a regular basis to publish to a fan base that was created in the wake of their novel debuting on the NYT bestsellers list.
New Rule: do not model your blog after anyone, especially if that anyone comes up in a search on Amazon.
Newer Rule: if you can find a particular blog’s author within your friends on Facebook (and not the unemployed ones, they don’t count, they also have way too much time on their hands), that is someone who you could possibly look to for setting a standard of an enjoyable blog written on budgeted time.
I seem to have a recollection of a similar misconception from my youth. I probably started about seven different journals between the ages of ten and sixteen. Each time, I pledged to myself that I would write every day, twice if something really exciting happened. Funny thing about kids: not a whole lot happens to them. I learned much later that the published “diaries” and “journals” I was reading were actually penned by adults, reliving their youth in a way that earned them a place on the YA shelf at the local library. My early diaries consisted of fantasies of boys I was too shy to talk to, followed by kisses from other boys (but not with tongue, because I told him I would break up with him if he tried to use his tongue, GROSS), and finally sexual encounters with still other boys-almost-men. Yes, I was a girl raised on a steady diet of Judy Blume novels and thus my short life story read like one (in seven unfinished volumes).
I’ve just given you plenty of reasons why this whole blogging thing will never work. So what’s different now that would keep you coming back?
Well for starters, I’m not ten-to-sixteen years old anymore. I am much more “established,” I guess you could say. I have my undergraduate degree in English Language and Literature from the University of Michigan. I have a job in fundraising. I have a car, a mortgage, and a dog. I have Boyfriend, who is the live-in type and who is allowed to use his tongue when kissing, only if it is appropriate of course.
As for this blog, I intend to use it ONLY when I want to, and ONLY when I have something to write [complain] about. I tend to think of myself as a good writer, smart, funny, and since graduating college I have missed having an outlet such as this to share my thoughts and feelings. [Cue the Judy Blume- esque music]
Lastly, if you’ve made it this far, I’ll be writing about my struggles as I attempt to live a luxurious life on a tight-ass budget. There are some things I love, and those things are expensive ones. Leather handbags, gadgets, food and wine (luckily for this one, Boyfriend works at a restaurant), clothes, designer pet products… You name it, I have probably thought about buying it. I’m not sure how I garnered such expensive tastes. I guess I will have to blame the scads of east coast sorority girls that corrupted me during freshman year (please note that I was not and never have been a sorority girl, I have just learned their affluent ways while in close proximity during my time living in a University dormitory). I am a secretary, I make less than $30k a year, and I have zero savings.
But I’m living.
So that’s me in a nutshell. TTFN, I hope to see you again soon. But only when you want to, and I want to; only when the feeling is mutual.