Why don't you blog about natural cosmetics and lotions? Why don't you blog about politics? You're a good writer, why don't you blog about art or landscape design or eco-friendly technologies?
These are the things I hear from parents and friends. While I thank them for the kind words and for nudging me along in my writing journey, it's not so easy for me to just start blogging. SilverTonguedLass started out as a very personal online diary; a place where I could write about me and my life with little regard to anyone else reading it. Sure, I figured close friends would read it, and between trans-continental phone calls, it was a way for them to see how I was doing and what I was up to. But mainly, this blog was also a way for me to keep my writing skills sharpened. I was the only editor and these blog entries were up to my discretion; no word count limits; no one editing me or rejecting my pitches. I could write about anything I wanted.
But somewhere, I started wanting to get my name out there. I wanted to write a blog. Amelia has been writing about all things vintage, with a specific bent on vintage clothing, for three months to my three years, and her blog theimportanceofbeingvintage.blogspot.com has already had over 3000 page views. Sure, she's writing about a much broader, and more interesting topic than myself, but I still grow jealous at the thought. Jealous, perhaps also because she's wildly talented as a writer, one more talent to her arsenal. I always thought writing well and engaging pieces was my special talent. Now, I feel often like a jane-of-all-trades and master of none.
Amidst thousands and thousands of blogs written by "writers", I want to be the real deal. I want my blog posts in this digital age to lead somewhere. I dream of a novel or a book. A deal. A web content job. A way to freelance and travel this wide open country the way I want to. Even if it's to learn that road tripping and lonesome wandering isn't as romantic as I think it is. Maybe I won't road trip or travel, but entertaining the idea and a growing savings account are dreams as well.
My issue is that I find too many things exciting and important. I love art and design, whether it's a poster or a well designed landscape. I think solar panels and rain water storage barrels are great technologies that I hope will allow us to use energy efficiently enough to help humans as a species survive into the next century. I love Burts Bees and other lotion/ cosmetics companies that make paraben, pthalate, and petroleum free products and do so using plastic free packaging.
Successful blogs, however, come from one direction, are updated regularly, and discuss one particular topic. My skills and interests have always been scattered, so coming up with an umbrella topic where I can discuss drought-tolerant gardening, efficient, sustainable technological advances, favorite food and alternative country music records in a cohesive way is quite difficult.
Should anyone have any ideas as to how to accomplish this or to narrow things down, please let me know by commenting to this post.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Competition
One of the senior privileges at my alma mater was that seniors got to choose a favorite quote that would stand as a personal motto of sorts, listed under their senior photo in the yearbook. One of my best friends listed this as her quote:
"In the end, the only person you're competing with is yourself."
I view myself this way, or rather, that I compete with this version of myself that I think I should be; the version of myself that took risks, that was rougher and meaner around the edges. There's a part of me that wishes I could flirt easily, pick up good looking men, laugh with them, bed them and then leave them quietly sleeping in the morning. I wish my heart was colder, more detached. I compete with the version of myself that lives independently, even if it were in a dump in east-shit hook, because it seems wussy that I live with my parents now. There's a part of me that wishes I could jump on a bike or a car with nothing but the money in my checking account and take off the way Kerouac did in the forties. The life that I see one particular person living, with all the calamity of a burning fire; and yet, I don't even know if that's in my head, my skewed perception of his life, or if it's an accurate reading on someone I never knew very well. Something I've learned from my father is that the grass isn't always greener on the other side; sometimes, dare I say it, often times, the grass isn't greener. It just looks that way.
I'm only competing with myself because I only have my life to live with. No matter how close you are to a person, you can never know all the difficulties, the worries and anxieties, the ups and downs and the obstacles of someone else's life. Life is happening now and I choose to put my life in a particular direction every day, the way I put my feet on the hardwood floorboards when I get up in the morning. I really choose the life I want every day, every second of every day; some seconds I'm happy and some seconds I'm not. But I choose the life I want, and I think it's one of which I can be reasonably proud. There's something profound in knowing that I'm only competing with myself and no one else.
The truth is, that I may want to jump on that bike or in that car, but I don't want it enough. Why does that pseudo dream keep rubbing me the wrong way? I don't know. But, I think that's me. Perpetually torn in two different directions.
I'm only competing with myself, so either way, I'm bound to win.
For anyone wondering what my senior quote was, here it is:
"And I heard that highway whisper and sigh, are you ready to fly?"---Jackson Browne.
Prophetic, no? Even when I was 17, I knew that road was talking to me in ways I didn't even know.
"In the end, the only person you're competing with is yourself."
I view myself this way, or rather, that I compete with this version of myself that I think I should be; the version of myself that took risks, that was rougher and meaner around the edges. There's a part of me that wishes I could flirt easily, pick up good looking men, laugh with them, bed them and then leave them quietly sleeping in the morning. I wish my heart was colder, more detached. I compete with the version of myself that lives independently, even if it were in a dump in east-shit hook, because it seems wussy that I live with my parents now. There's a part of me that wishes I could jump on a bike or a car with nothing but the money in my checking account and take off the way Kerouac did in the forties. The life that I see one particular person living, with all the calamity of a burning fire; and yet, I don't even know if that's in my head, my skewed perception of his life, or if it's an accurate reading on someone I never knew very well. Something I've learned from my father is that the grass isn't always greener on the other side; sometimes, dare I say it, often times, the grass isn't greener. It just looks that way.
I'm only competing with myself because I only have my life to live with. No matter how close you are to a person, you can never know all the difficulties, the worries and anxieties, the ups and downs and the obstacles of someone else's life. Life is happening now and I choose to put my life in a particular direction every day, the way I put my feet on the hardwood floorboards when I get up in the morning. I really choose the life I want every day, every second of every day; some seconds I'm happy and some seconds I'm not. But I choose the life I want, and I think it's one of which I can be reasonably proud. There's something profound in knowing that I'm only competing with myself and no one else.
The truth is, that I may want to jump on that bike or in that car, but I don't want it enough. Why does that pseudo dream keep rubbing me the wrong way? I don't know. But, I think that's me. Perpetually torn in two different directions.
I'm only competing with myself, so either way, I'm bound to win.
For anyone wondering what my senior quote was, here it is:
"And I heard that highway whisper and sigh, are you ready to fly?"---Jackson Browne.
Prophetic, no? Even when I was 17, I knew that road was talking to me in ways I didn't even know.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)