Those who can’t do, teach, right? If that’s true, then I can’t write. (Because I teach writing, see?) I do love to write and I like to think that I can clearly communicate a message to a reader. Sometimes, even, I can be quite witty. Yet, although I have tried various venues, I have never quite found my niche.
Until now. I have been initiated into the not-so-elite world of blogging. (Everyone’s got a blog, right?) And I’m hooked.
So why do I love the blog? First, it allows me to express myself in short vignettes, which is really perfect for me because I have found great difficulty in seeing a project through to the end. (This is why I have never pursued my Ph. D; the dissertation terrifies me.)
Second, the blog allows me to be in control of the entire writing process. I am writer, editor, and publisher all rolled into one. I don’t have to fear rejection. (Unless I’m just having a really bad day.) I am a free agent. (Only, this means that I work for free.)
Third, the blog allows me to break the rules. Don’t tell my students, but I might begin a sentence with a conjunction. Or write in fragments. The one thing I will not do, however, is use comma splices. They are inherently evil. (I could have easily made those last two sentences into a comma splice, but I just can’t bring myself to do it.)
For someone who loves to write, the blog is indeed enticing. However, if a writer wants a blog to be good, he or she needs a focus. Perhaps this is what I have lacked in some of my other attempts at writing. What am I going to write about, and why does it matter?
I teach my students to write what they know. So what do I know? What can I possibly write about that would matter to someone else? The answer to this question has been right in front of me all along. Staring me in the face at 6AM whining that it’s hungry.
Yes, I have kids. Two of them. They offer lots of writing material because of the weird things they say and do. They also put me in situations, both comic and dramatic, I never would have imagined. Like washing green paint off of a 4-year-old’s naked torso. Or taking my first trip in an ambulance after my water broke at 24 weeks. Then, there’s being puked all over. I can’t forget that. (Who can?) Both of them have done it.
So there you have it — the method and madness behind this momology. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I do living it and writing about it.