I'm just going to come out and say it.
I feel an enormous amount of pressure to put out -- good posts, that is. Because I'm a writer by trade (I love being able to say that), I'm always trying to outdo myself, raise the bar, make the next one better than the last. And what does that result in? A serious lack of posting, heartbroken readers, and a frustrated Maven, that's what.
I pondered this over my afternoon coffee today, and then tried to come up with solutions. I managed to think of three:
1. Shut down my blog so I don't have to worry about it anymore (not really an option, as the world would be reporting a surge in attempted suicides shortly thereafter)
2. Keep stressing out about coming up with The Ultimate Post (not really an option either because my stress quota is pretty full as it is, thank you very much)
3. Quit worrying about it and write what I love, even if not everyone loves it as much as I do -- like those owners of really ugly purebred dogs who think they're the cutest things in the world
Maybe this blog is my greyhound. Maybe it's not to everyone's taste and will never be a wildly successful online parenting pagoda, but as long as I smile when I see it, that's all that really matters, right?
When I first started posting, I wrote about our day-to-day lives. I had gremlin #3 growing inside of me, the first two scuttling around me daily, and a home daycare to boot. I needed a place to vent, to bitch, to whine, to look at things in ridiculous and highly inappropriate ways. It was a great release, which is why 2006 is filled with many entries. I felt free to write whatever I wanted whenever I wanted it.
And slowly, ever so slowly, I made a fatal mistake: I tried to categorize myself.
Much like the boy who sat next to me in grade 10 art class, I felt confused. What kind of blog was I trying to write? What message was I attempting to convey? Should I stay completely anonymous or let people know who I am? Should I use profanity or keep it G-rated? Should I be funny all the time or allow for some self-pity posts?
The more I thought about it, the more confused I became. But, unlike my grade 10 art buddy, there are no support groups for this kind of thing. There are no stickers on the back of other people's cars letting me know that I'm not the only who's ever questioned her bloguality.
Yeah, I like that word, too. That's why I made it up.
Today, as I sat in front of a blank post screen yet again, wondering what on earth I could write about that would be fun, thought-provoking and rich in quality, an idea came to me:
Screw this noise and get back to your roots, Maven.
As per usual, the inside voices are right. And to think the doctor said I should quiet them down with medication. Besides, who else would tell me when I need to wear my tinfoil hat?
First of all, there is absolutely no way I can categorize this blog. I'm a walking oxymoron; I'm a mom to three gremlins (mommy blog), addict (recovery blog), writer (professional blog), postpartum doula (breastfeeding blog) who has two kids with hearing loss and sensory issues (special needs blog). How on earth do you fit that all into one category?
Secondly, I can't write posts to please other people -- unless they pay me to do it, in which case I'll write whatever they want. Email me; I will be your whore. (Sorry, that's the freelance writer in me coming out) It's just not humanly possibly to please everybody all the time, even for someone as extraordinary as myself.
Finally, The Maven needs to stop worrying about what everyone else wants, and start writing for herself again. Somewhere along the way, I forgot what a self-centered, egotistical bitch I am. Where's the fun in thinking of others? That's for chumps and people named Oprah. This is the one spot in the entire world - in my entire child-filled life - where I can plant a flag firmly in the ground (hopefully not spearing my foot in the process) and make this my own territory. It's time to step out of the closet again and breathe the fresh air of narcissistic exhibitionism.
It's quite invigorating.
So what, exactly, does my readership get out of this deal? Simple:
1. You'll get more posts because I'll be drawing from my inner fabulousness instead of trying to find it externally all the time, and,
2. You'll get inside my very scary head and even scarier life as I recount the day-to-day goings on with three gremlins and a house full of chaos
Sounds great, right?
...Wait! Where are you all going?
Don't you want to see three-year-old Spawnling's (Jack's) first attempt at writing his own name?
Don't you want to hear about how I cleverly distracted the littlest beast for an entire day last week by taking him to the newly improved (and absolutely beautiful -- definitely go see it if you can!) Canadian Museum of Nature? I told him if he didn't listen I would let the dinosaurs eat him. The horned wonder informed me that dinosaurs died a long time ago and these are just fossils, stupidhead.
Little know-it-all.
Anyway, I'm going to try and shrug off this writer's block with a good amount of coffee and some personal freedom to just write whatever, whenever. My inner critic can critique something other than my blog posts. Heck, if she judged the state of my house half as much, the place would be spotless.