April 21, 2012

Author, Author!

I've always considered myself a writer.  In the evolution of my identity growing up, it is the one thing that has always been.  I definitely remember when I wanted to be a doctor, a lawyer, a bio-medical engineer, an actor.  I wanted to be a Mom.  I wanted to be childless.  I wanted to be a wife.  I wanted to remain single.  One thing I never "wanted to be" was a writer--because I just was.

Now, I have at times specifically wanted to be a novelist, a playwright, and I briefly flirted with the idea of journalism.  I imagined that I would write wonderful short stories for magazines and be "Published."  These specific writing jobs never materialized, and there really is no job title for someone who furiously scribbles poetic rants on napkins.

My past as a writer is immortalized in many notebooks (for some reason I was always drawn to steno notebooks) scraps of paper and napkins, backs of receipts and the like.  My present?  Wrapped up in my brain.  I write constantly--in my head.  If I had time to sit and write all of the things I ramble on about to myself, I'd truly do nothing else--but it mostly gets swallowed up in the churning whirlpool of daily life with three kids, a dog and a couple part-time jobs and laundry (it really is it's own job all by itself.)

When blogging became de rigueur, I wanted no parts of it.  Writing was such a private thing in so many ways.  Partly because it was so raw and partly because it was so melodramatic I'd be mortified if anyone read some of the things I wrote.  I roll my own eyes reading some of that crap!

The other problem was that I couldn't imagine that anyone would want to read what I wrote and I just didn't feel like putting myself out there for that kind of rejection.  I think writers are like stand-up comedians in so many ways.  The best material is the crappy things in life, and we crave the attention of an audience so badly it overshadows the fact that we should probably be embarrassed like normal people.

So basically I'm doing this for the attention.  Well, not really, but kinda.  I always did like people to read what I wrote and I always appreciate feedback and constructive criticism.  I'll take Simon over Paula any day.  Tell me what sucks and maybe how you would fix it--don't get sloshed, read my shit and tell me my outfit looks good.

My biggest problem is that sometimes it takes me forever.  Who has time for this every day?  I don't like to read many blogs but I do enjoy a good "Punch" from Jen.  She's funny and it seems effortless.  (And she's courting minivan manufacturers.)  I want to be her.  Not in a Jennifer Jason Leigh Single White Female kind of way.  More like a "I-have-time-to-sit-down-with-my-thoughts-and-write-something-funny/entertaining/thought provoking-today" kind of way.

I keep promising myself that I will take more time, make more time, to sit down and do this more often.  (Which shouldn't be difficult considering that I average less than one post per month.)  So what, if anything, does this have to do with my super parenting?  Nothing really, except I will brag that both of my literate kids are excellent writers.  Or maybe I need to change the name of my blog.

You share because you care.