My goodness, how the years melt away! This coming October marks three years since I started blogging. It seems like only yesterday I wrote my first story, something to the tune of losing my blogging virginity. I was nervous and a little scared but your kind words and encouragement brought me all the way.
The first year I was a busy beaver blogging Monday to Saturday but I shortened it to Monday to Friday in 2014 because I worked the shop Saturdays on my own and there wasn’t enough time in the day to do it all. I got very addicted to the process and when I couldn’t manage the six days I became frazzled, so I cut it back to week days which provided a little extra time to gather more fodder for my tales.
It seems there is never any lack of topics. I’ve filled three large binders with my stories, and there would be more but the first six months I didn’t know how to print them. That’s approximately 832 stories and enough paper to choke a horse. I’ve touched on a gamut of topics; from rug hooking to gardening, shop talk, my fur babies, tales of my youth, boyfriends from Mars, sailing and the occasional rant.
Writing is addictive; almost as much as blue and white china but not quite as much as gathering wool. The times when I’m unable to blog, when life gets in the way, I feel it. I need that fix in front of the computer, either home or at the office. Sometimes I’m ducking a curve ball and it just doesn’t happen, but I’m never short of a story and once sitting in front of the keyboard plenty of words shoot out of my fingertips. To date I’ve not once struggled for a topic and even when I’m practically brain dead from exhaustion, I still manage to throw a few coherent thoughts together.
When I began this journey, I drew a line that I promised myself I wouldn’t cross. Sometimes I came close, sat at the keyboard and wrote furiously, purging a woe from my heart and soul. It was cathartic, I wrote to cleanse, and although at times I was tempted to hit post I rose above the need to hurt those that had hurt me and deleted it. There are some topics better left alone that would rattle the skeletons in the family closet so I’ve kept that door closed, locked and threw away the key.
I know my friends sometimes think I’ve gone overboard, they know me and all my little quirks, love me in spite of it, but they still worry I sometimes get a little too personal at my own expense. Times when I talked about a body function, having hair in the wrong place or not enough in others, or parts going south that used to be northerly, but I’m not concerned. No one can every force you to read, there’s always the delete key and I’m gone.
I love feedback, the potent incentive to continue. Not many people leave comments unless I post a racy tale, but I know you’re out there because my stats page keeps a tally. There were 25,000 clicks on my blog last month and it grows steadily. That doesn’t mean each click is one person, it means there are many coming back time and again to follow it daily or weekly or whenever. If every person is clicking daily, that would mean 800 individuals are following my every word, literally. But of course there are all manner of combinations of followers. Maybe someone only clicks once a month and read all or only a few blogs at once, maybe some click once a week. That would mean there are a whole lot more people following me and I think I’ll stick with that scenario! There are all kinds math equations to determine how many people are clicking and when, but truthfully, I’d be impressed if only one person followed me.
Customers come in the shop and tell me they read my blog with their morning coffee and comment on a particular story. I always turn blood red and mumble thank-you, shy little thing that I am. As long as you remain faceless I can bare my soul but when you stand in front of me I become shy and feel a bit exposed. Not to worry, that feeling quickly passes as happy takes over. I absolutely love that people read my shtick, it’s one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done.
I’m told my candor is appreciated and they like that I’m real. I’ve always been an open book. If you ask me a question, I’ll tell you the truth. I have no problem discussing body functions, maybe that stems from working in a nursing home and handling the bodies of others, maybe it becomes less of a taboo and familiarity breeds acceptance more than contempt. Physically we are all the same; we perspire, go to the bathroom, break wind and wrestle with medical problems; mentally, we are all the same as well; we love, feel happiness and anger, cope with sadness and go through a gamut of emotions in between. So I feel, why deny being like everyone else, being human is the greatest gift of all.
A comment the other day had me smiling from ear to ear and I floated for a week. She wrote, “I came for the hooking and stay for the blogs.” Yowsa! Wow! Another woman said I helped her through her grief over the loss of her husband. My stories made her laugh and cry, and helped her heal. Double wow! I’ve been told that a few of you have wet your pants laughing over something I’ve said and although I shouldn’t say thank-you to wet underwear, it’s a HUGE compliment.
I've always been a bit of a clown. I make fun of myself and in doing so maybe make others feel better, give them a chuckle when they need it the most, perhaps help them get through a particularly tough day, or start it off with a smile. People laugh at comments because they relate. That’s why some comedians fall flat when you hear their routine while others make you laugh so hard tears run down your leg! It’s because they’ve tapped into your own experience so you hear the words and feel them at the same time.
I’m amazed at how quickly I can complete a story now. I write more and edit less. They say practice makes although perfection won’t be achieved any time soon. I’m miffed, no matter how many times I read the post before hitting the publish button, I find boo boos later on. I’ve read that blogs aren’t supposed to be perfect, not like a novel or published work, but it’s what I’m striving for and it drives me round the bend to see a mistake the size of Texas. I’m not great with commas, but I can live with that, it’s the misspelled words missed on auto check that bite me. Smart computers, my eye! Sometimes I can read it dozens of times but my mind knows what it should say so it sees stuff that isn’t there. Only when it’s posted live do the errors jump out and of course I’m humiliated that my warts are showing.
I’m enjoying writing. I view it as practice for my book. Unfortunately, I’ve not worked on that much as there aren’t enough hours in the day to do it all, but this winter I would like to take it out and dust it off. The blogging is rehearsal for the novel and it will be interesting to read it after being away for so long. I might see it differently now, juvenile in its approach and need to rewrite the entire thing. But no matter, it can only get better from this experience.
Unlike one on one conversation, I am never at a loss for words in front of the laptop. Words pile up like laundry, especially in my house. Sometimes my stories start off with one subject and end on a different note altogether. Writing is certainly a journey. Like walking, one foot in front of another, you never know how far it will take you but it’s always exciting to round the next corner.
The first year I was a busy beaver blogging Monday to Saturday but I shortened it to Monday to Friday in 2014 because I worked the shop Saturdays on my own and there wasn’t enough time in the day to do it all. I got very addicted to the process and when I couldn’t manage the six days I became frazzled, so I cut it back to week days which provided a little extra time to gather more fodder for my tales.
It seems there is never any lack of topics. I’ve filled three large binders with my stories, and there would be more but the first six months I didn’t know how to print them. That’s approximately 832 stories and enough paper to choke a horse. I’ve touched on a gamut of topics; from rug hooking to gardening, shop talk, my fur babies, tales of my youth, boyfriends from Mars, sailing and the occasional rant.
Writing is addictive; almost as much as blue and white china but not quite as much as gathering wool. The times when I’m unable to blog, when life gets in the way, I feel it. I need that fix in front of the computer, either home or at the office. Sometimes I’m ducking a curve ball and it just doesn’t happen, but I’m never short of a story and once sitting in front of the keyboard plenty of words shoot out of my fingertips. To date I’ve not once struggled for a topic and even when I’m practically brain dead from exhaustion, I still manage to throw a few coherent thoughts together.
When I began this journey, I drew a line that I promised myself I wouldn’t cross. Sometimes I came close, sat at the keyboard and wrote furiously, purging a woe from my heart and soul. It was cathartic, I wrote to cleanse, and although at times I was tempted to hit post I rose above the need to hurt those that had hurt me and deleted it. There are some topics better left alone that would rattle the skeletons in the family closet so I’ve kept that door closed, locked and threw away the key.
I know my friends sometimes think I’ve gone overboard, they know me and all my little quirks, love me in spite of it, but they still worry I sometimes get a little too personal at my own expense. Times when I talked about a body function, having hair in the wrong place or not enough in others, or parts going south that used to be northerly, but I’m not concerned. No one can every force you to read, there’s always the delete key and I’m gone.
I love feedback, the potent incentive to continue. Not many people leave comments unless I post a racy tale, but I know you’re out there because my stats page keeps a tally. There were 25,000 clicks on my blog last month and it grows steadily. That doesn’t mean each click is one person, it means there are many coming back time and again to follow it daily or weekly or whenever. If every person is clicking daily, that would mean 800 individuals are following my every word, literally. But of course there are all manner of combinations of followers. Maybe someone only clicks once a month and read all or only a few blogs at once, maybe some click once a week. That would mean there are a whole lot more people following me and I think I’ll stick with that scenario! There are all kinds math equations to determine how many people are clicking and when, but truthfully, I’d be impressed if only one person followed me.
Customers come in the shop and tell me they read my blog with their morning coffee and comment on a particular story. I always turn blood red and mumble thank-you, shy little thing that I am. As long as you remain faceless I can bare my soul but when you stand in front of me I become shy and feel a bit exposed. Not to worry, that feeling quickly passes as happy takes over. I absolutely love that people read my shtick, it’s one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done.
I’m told my candor is appreciated and they like that I’m real. I’ve always been an open book. If you ask me a question, I’ll tell you the truth. I have no problem discussing body functions, maybe that stems from working in a nursing home and handling the bodies of others, maybe it becomes less of a taboo and familiarity breeds acceptance more than contempt. Physically we are all the same; we perspire, go to the bathroom, break wind and wrestle with medical problems; mentally, we are all the same as well; we love, feel happiness and anger, cope with sadness and go through a gamut of emotions in between. So I feel, why deny being like everyone else, being human is the greatest gift of all.
A comment the other day had me smiling from ear to ear and I floated for a week. She wrote, “I came for the hooking and stay for the blogs.” Yowsa! Wow! Another woman said I helped her through her grief over the loss of her husband. My stories made her laugh and cry, and helped her heal. Double wow! I’ve been told that a few of you have wet your pants laughing over something I’ve said and although I shouldn’t say thank-you to wet underwear, it’s a HUGE compliment.
I've always been a bit of a clown. I make fun of myself and in doing so maybe make others feel better, give them a chuckle when they need it the most, perhaps help them get through a particularly tough day, or start it off with a smile. People laugh at comments because they relate. That’s why some comedians fall flat when you hear their routine while others make you laugh so hard tears run down your leg! It’s because they’ve tapped into your own experience so you hear the words and feel them at the same time.
I’m amazed at how quickly I can complete a story now. I write more and edit less. They say practice makes although perfection won’t be achieved any time soon. I’m miffed, no matter how many times I read the post before hitting the publish button, I find boo boos later on. I’ve read that blogs aren’t supposed to be perfect, not like a novel or published work, but it’s what I’m striving for and it drives me round the bend to see a mistake the size of Texas. I’m not great with commas, but I can live with that, it’s the misspelled words missed on auto check that bite me. Smart computers, my eye! Sometimes I can read it dozens of times but my mind knows what it should say so it sees stuff that isn’t there. Only when it’s posted live do the errors jump out and of course I’m humiliated that my warts are showing.
I’m enjoying writing. I view it as practice for my book. Unfortunately, I’ve not worked on that much as there aren’t enough hours in the day to do it all, but this winter I would like to take it out and dust it off. The blogging is rehearsal for the novel and it will be interesting to read it after being away for so long. I might see it differently now, juvenile in its approach and need to rewrite the entire thing. But no matter, it can only get better from this experience.
Unlike one on one conversation, I am never at a loss for words in front of the laptop. Words pile up like laundry, especially in my house. Sometimes my stories start off with one subject and end on a different note altogether. Writing is certainly a journey. Like walking, one foot in front of another, you never know how far it will take you but it’s always exciting to round the next corner.
Today is a very special day at the "Little" house. Our first born poodle fur baby turns 10 years old today! September 11th might be remembered for a terrible tragedy but good things happen on that day too! Happy Birthday to our special little girl!
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