Someone asked me the other day why I waste so much time blogging. It was one of the odd times when the cat seized my tongue and I was at a loss for words. I did take a small offense at the word "waste", I'm sure there are better words in the English language to use, but then again maybe to them, they called it like they saw it. It's perfectly legit to have opinions, like arseholes, we all have them.
So I've reworded the question to be, "Christine, why do you blog so much?" Kinder and maybe worthy of an answer? I will admit I began blogging as a way to promote my website but realized quickly that it brought me a great deal of satisfaction so much so that I preferred writing over hooking for awhile. Then it became a daily routine like a morning shower or Corrie in the evening.
First of all, in blog defense, I don't spend that much time writing. The more you practice any craft, the faster you become, so what used to take hours to do can now be knocked off in a fraction of the time. So lets dispel the rumour that I spend a lot of time at this. I don't go home at night and slave over the computer writing like an addict looking for a high. I type like the wind, my fingers fly over the keys so I can pull off a lot more words than a one finger wonder. Not exactly laborious.
So why do I do it? Well, I'm an entertainer at heart. I've always been the class clown and the jokester in the crowd. Wind me up a party and I go off like a female version of Jim Carey, telling stories, acting out and making faces, which I might add, I do when I write.
I've never been too tired to blog, or felt like it was a chore, good reasons to keep up the momentum, but I do find some days too busy to even post the story I've written the night before or if I didn't get to it, no time to come up with something on the fly in the morning. I'm not Catholic, but I feel guilty when that happens, knowing people are signing on and there's nothing to see. In the year plus I've been doing it I haven't missed many days, once or twice due to illness and the odd time because the shop was crazy busy, like today......
Somewhere in the back of my mind I like to think I'm leaving a word legacy, something to remain after I'm gone. Maybe someday my son will feel sentimental and dig around in the archives for my words. He’ll read my thoughts and reminisce and connect with me as a person, not as his mother. It will be like looking through a photo album but instead of faces and scenes he’ll form pictures in his head from my thoughts, hear my voice as his eyes pass over my words. I can see him shake his head at times and wonder what I was thinking but hopefully overall, feel a comfort through the loss of my physical self.
Blogging is a bit like writing in a diary, with the difference that it is directed outward instead of inward. I suppose like all things this will run its course and you'll tire of me, and then I'll hang up my blog coat and maybe put all writing efforts into a book or two, but for now I'm having fun, sharing tales about rug hooking and sometimes venting the steam pipe or beating myself up in a loving way.
I sometimes wonder how far my words travel. The internet has so many tentacles, reaching out to the four corners of the earth. I've received emails and comments from all over the globe and let me tell you, that's one hell of a thrill. A comment is like a present, there's excitement to find one, anticipation before you open it, and a smile when you do. I wonder sometimes if I've inspired or insulted, what emotions my thoughts provoke. When I write I ponder if I’ve gone to far or stopped too short, but so far, knock on wood, it's been a positive experience.
The other day the phone rang and a woman, a virtual stranger to me, but who knew me through my words, called in regards to my story on hair loss, wishing to share her experience and results with certain treatments. We share the same age and the same woes, same mid life angsts. I quickly noted how our lives ran parallel. We chatted for a half hour, a condensed introduction, but parted on a familiar note and now because of words, I've met a new hooking friend. She said she casually reads several blogs but mine regularly, and that her hooking group follows me as well. They all live in Texas, a place I’ve never been but my thoughts are world travelers. I hung up the phone and smiled for the rest of the day, touched that I shared a connection with someone through my words.
Sometimes I get a little weirded out by some of the people who follow my stories, men especially. I wonder why they are interested in what I have to say if they don't hook. Momentarily, a flush of red passes over my cheeks knowing I’ve mentioned some fairly personal topics. When I first realized the broadness of my audience, I worried it would influence what I wrote, but I chewed on that a bit and decided to stay the course and continue in the style I began.
Why hide and be ashamed of life's experiences when really, we are all cut from the same cloth. We all have our moments; we all seek love, feel joy and suffer sadness, and we all put on pants on one leg at a time. Circumstances may change but inside we are matched sets. Maybe I touch a bit of familiarity, talk about things you’ve already done or felt so I’m not breaking any new ground, just reminding people of their own lives.
I also write for my own enjoyment. I want to see what rabbits I can pull out of my hat. I like to laugh so I spin humour, sometimes self deprecating, I mean who better to poke fun at then myself, isn't that what most comedians make a living at? So I’ll keep meandering on, sticking to the formula of tell it like it is.
So far I’ve only received two complaints, one directly at me and the other filtered through someone else. They didn’t like my truth, and felt I should have lied to protect feelings. I’m not insensitive but I refuse to sugar coat to protect those who have done questionable things or maybe didn’t practice the manners their mother taught them. Maybe hearing that you've been an ass might make you think twice about doing again. Usually those kinds of people get away with murder, squash people like flies, treat others like dirt under their nails. They're bullies really so I don't give a hoot about sparing feelings if you act like you don't have any. At least I don't name names so take comfort in that, but that's all I'll give ya.
And I don’t write about every little thing that annoys me. Someone wrote once to ask a question and actually said “At the risk of ending up in one of your blogs"..... I smiled over that. Don’t worry, I won't write about every little thing that happens in the shop. I'm familiar with the concept that we all have bad days and don't deserve to be called on the carpet for minor indiscretions. I only write about topics that come with a lesson in them, or humour. I'm definitely more on the dry, dark side of a laugh, and from some of the comments I get, I think most of us are on the same page.
So am I wasting my time? I think not. So, I'll just muddle along telling it like it is. Why fix what ain’t broke……
So I've reworded the question to be, "Christine, why do you blog so much?" Kinder and maybe worthy of an answer? I will admit I began blogging as a way to promote my website but realized quickly that it brought me a great deal of satisfaction so much so that I preferred writing over hooking for awhile. Then it became a daily routine like a morning shower or Corrie in the evening.
First of all, in blog defense, I don't spend that much time writing. The more you practice any craft, the faster you become, so what used to take hours to do can now be knocked off in a fraction of the time. So lets dispel the rumour that I spend a lot of time at this. I don't go home at night and slave over the computer writing like an addict looking for a high. I type like the wind, my fingers fly over the keys so I can pull off a lot more words than a one finger wonder. Not exactly laborious.
So why do I do it? Well, I'm an entertainer at heart. I've always been the class clown and the jokester in the crowd. Wind me up a party and I go off like a female version of Jim Carey, telling stories, acting out and making faces, which I might add, I do when I write.
I've never been too tired to blog, or felt like it was a chore, good reasons to keep up the momentum, but I do find some days too busy to even post the story I've written the night before or if I didn't get to it, no time to come up with something on the fly in the morning. I'm not Catholic, but I feel guilty when that happens, knowing people are signing on and there's nothing to see. In the year plus I've been doing it I haven't missed many days, once or twice due to illness and the odd time because the shop was crazy busy, like today......
Somewhere in the back of my mind I like to think I'm leaving a word legacy, something to remain after I'm gone. Maybe someday my son will feel sentimental and dig around in the archives for my words. He’ll read my thoughts and reminisce and connect with me as a person, not as his mother. It will be like looking through a photo album but instead of faces and scenes he’ll form pictures in his head from my thoughts, hear my voice as his eyes pass over my words. I can see him shake his head at times and wonder what I was thinking but hopefully overall, feel a comfort through the loss of my physical self.
Blogging is a bit like writing in a diary, with the difference that it is directed outward instead of inward. I suppose like all things this will run its course and you'll tire of me, and then I'll hang up my blog coat and maybe put all writing efforts into a book or two, but for now I'm having fun, sharing tales about rug hooking and sometimes venting the steam pipe or beating myself up in a loving way.
I sometimes wonder how far my words travel. The internet has so many tentacles, reaching out to the four corners of the earth. I've received emails and comments from all over the globe and let me tell you, that's one hell of a thrill. A comment is like a present, there's excitement to find one, anticipation before you open it, and a smile when you do. I wonder sometimes if I've inspired or insulted, what emotions my thoughts provoke. When I write I ponder if I’ve gone to far or stopped too short, but so far, knock on wood, it's been a positive experience.
The other day the phone rang and a woman, a virtual stranger to me, but who knew me through my words, called in regards to my story on hair loss, wishing to share her experience and results with certain treatments. We share the same age and the same woes, same mid life angsts. I quickly noted how our lives ran parallel. We chatted for a half hour, a condensed introduction, but parted on a familiar note and now because of words, I've met a new hooking friend. She said she casually reads several blogs but mine regularly, and that her hooking group follows me as well. They all live in Texas, a place I’ve never been but my thoughts are world travelers. I hung up the phone and smiled for the rest of the day, touched that I shared a connection with someone through my words.
Sometimes I get a little weirded out by some of the people who follow my stories, men especially. I wonder why they are interested in what I have to say if they don't hook. Momentarily, a flush of red passes over my cheeks knowing I’ve mentioned some fairly personal topics. When I first realized the broadness of my audience, I worried it would influence what I wrote, but I chewed on that a bit and decided to stay the course and continue in the style I began.
Why hide and be ashamed of life's experiences when really, we are all cut from the same cloth. We all have our moments; we all seek love, feel joy and suffer sadness, and we all put on pants on one leg at a time. Circumstances may change but inside we are matched sets. Maybe I touch a bit of familiarity, talk about things you’ve already done or felt so I’m not breaking any new ground, just reminding people of their own lives.
I also write for my own enjoyment. I want to see what rabbits I can pull out of my hat. I like to laugh so I spin humour, sometimes self deprecating, I mean who better to poke fun at then myself, isn't that what most comedians make a living at? So I’ll keep meandering on, sticking to the formula of tell it like it is.
So far I’ve only received two complaints, one directly at me and the other filtered through someone else. They didn’t like my truth, and felt I should have lied to protect feelings. I’m not insensitive but I refuse to sugar coat to protect those who have done questionable things or maybe didn’t practice the manners their mother taught them. Maybe hearing that you've been an ass might make you think twice about doing again. Usually those kinds of people get away with murder, squash people like flies, treat others like dirt under their nails. They're bullies really so I don't give a hoot about sparing feelings if you act like you don't have any. At least I don't name names so take comfort in that, but that's all I'll give ya.
And I don’t write about every little thing that annoys me. Someone wrote once to ask a question and actually said “At the risk of ending up in one of your blogs"..... I smiled over that. Don’t worry, I won't write about every little thing that happens in the shop. I'm familiar with the concept that we all have bad days and don't deserve to be called on the carpet for minor indiscretions. I only write about topics that come with a lesson in them, or humour. I'm definitely more on the dry, dark side of a laugh, and from some of the comments I get, I think most of us are on the same page.
So am I wasting my time? I think not. So, I'll just muddle along telling it like it is. Why fix what ain’t broke……
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