I’m not a very creative person. Really, I’m not.
Yes, I post to my blog pretty religiously, but it’s really like I’m talking to you all, telling you a story. Honestly, I write just how I speak. And I tell the truth for the most part, so it doesn’t involve much creativity on my end.
Usually I just tell you something, reread it quickly for obvious typos (and have my sweet Manny to remind me when I misspell something) and throw it up. Voila! Instant feedback. And since my blog readers are some of the nicest on the planet (seriously, what did I do to deserve all of you?), what you tell me is always pretty nice.
A couple of weeks ago, I made the decision to start writing some essays. Again, because I have no real creativity they’re true stories about me and my life, so it’s not like I’m stretching too far with them. It’s a subject matter I’m comfortable with, I enjoy nothing more than telling a good story and they’re pretty good.
The essays are still pretty embryonic and rough and still need a lot more work (have I mentioned my comma addiction?) because they’re slightly more formal than my blog posts. I like ’em, I really do, and I’m proud of them.
But sometimes, like yesterday, I get pretty insecure about them. I like stuff that has real answers, a real right and wrong way to do things, and obviously creative stuff doesn’t have much of that. It’s whatever you think it should be.
That terrifies me.
It terrifies me, it makes me nervous and shy, and it makes me insecure. That is what you saw yesterday, and I wanted to thank each of you who reminded me that I’m not a failure at this stuff.
If I were someone totally crappy to read here on Mommy Wants Vodka, you wouldn’t come over, and I wouldn’t blame you. Since most of you don’t know me from a hole in the ground, I can’t even say that you’re just reading me because you feel sorry for me or because I pay you to. So, believe me when I tell you all how much it means to me to hear from you. Weird or not, you guys are my friends too, and you prop me up, dust me off, and get me back on my feet again. That’s what friends do for each other, right?
I don’t know what I’m going to do with these essays yet, I’m just not sure. Maybe they’ll just be saved merrily into my fancy hard drive on my new computer, where they will sit and rot. Who knows? Really, who cares?
Since I’m determined AND OCD they will be completed to the best of my ability, they will be edited by my good friend Pashmina–or whatever her blog name is– (she’s an actual real editor, can you believe I know such cool people? AND she introduced me to The Daver AND saved me from my hideous roommate in college. She’s a peach.) and The Daver, and then, who knows?
Giving up is not an option for me, because even if I try to not post to my blog or write part of an essay each day, I get really crabby and irritable–I think I’m addicted to writing– until I am able to. It’s really damn weird. I’m hoping that venturing outside the box will be a good thing for me, even if it’s for a small while.
Is it always gonna be so scary? What should I do with them?