I often tell my students, “When I grow up, I’m going to be a writer.” Unfortunately, I just don’t seem to have time to do the writing one must do in order to be a writer. In my head, there are ideas for three different novels and about a dozen short stories, and there they sit. I simply don’t see sitting down to craft a well-written novel amidst the chaos that is raising children and working full time. My family and my students are my life right now, and I just don’t see how I can manage to fit in a novel. I am sure that someone might be reading this and thinking, “You can do it! Women do it all the time.” I thank you in advance for the encouragement, and I know there are many female authors who manage to develop an engaging plot into a novel and have it published all while raising three children, tending a garden, and keeping the house clean.
Unfortunately, I am not that person. I have decided to table the idea of becoming a novelist for a few years (or eighteen) and take a stab at blogging in order to keep my writing skills sharp.
I have toyed with the idea of starting a blog for most of my maternity leave, and I even made it a New Year’s Resolution. I kept saying today is the day, but I didn’t have a “hook.” Why was I going to blog? Did I need a theme for this blog? Does anyone even care? I decided that if the purpose of the blog was for me to write that I simply must write. I must write every single day. I must write when I am grumpy or happy or sneezy or dopey or sleepy or bashful (and, yes, I know I forgot Doc). As I started to explain this idea to my husband, who is used to my wacky ideas, I told him, “You know how in the book, Julie and Julia, she spends a year cooking her way through Julia Child’s cookbook. Well, I am going to write every day for a year.” He had not read the book ,and he looked at me for a minute and said, “You mean you are going to tell the whole world when we go out of town.” I love that he always thinks about the “details.” I promised that I would not give away my location until after we returned home. We had this conversation two weeks ago, and I am sure he thinks he is never going to see this blog. Surprise, baby, I started!
I have no idea what I am going to write. This will probably be a mix of anecdotes about my life as a wife, a mother, a daughter, and a teacher. I might talk about how I hate laundry and learned not to wash my red robe with anything else since I am currently covered in red lint from toweling off after my shower. I might share a recipe or complain about grading papers. Who knows? I might even throw in some fiction or poetry. This is simply an exercise in one thing for me: writing.
It is possible this experiment will go awry, but for now I am going to give it a try. This is me. This is a year in my life.
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