A few weeks ago I woke up happy on a Saturday morning.
Little J was still asleep so I checked my emails in bed. I know, this new age is absurd. Wish I could lie to you and say I gazed out of the window watching mama bird build a nest while she sang an enchanting tune. Looking back, I suppose I should have.
Among others was a comment somebody left on a post I linked to TRDC. I love participating in fellow bloggers challenges as it introduces me to new websites and people. I am happy go lucky kind of girl. For most part I am liked and not taken very seriously. But this commentator was honest and told me she found it hard to understand my writing. I was shocked. I felt like a student again, being given back an assignment with a bad grade. Standing in a ballet studio again, being told my hands lack grace. Honesty sometimes sucks, right? Why was she being mean? Why would she tell me she did not like it? Why not just click away and never return. Not everybody has to enjoy my blog, I know that, but why tell me so?
As hard as it is to receive criticism, I was grateful for the comment. She took the time to read my post; a few times in fact. She was right about the form and the tone of it. That I lacked an important element to pull that story together. It made me realize writing a blog makes you a writer. Wow.
With this blog I learned I am naive. Clearly I underestimated my impact on the world. What I put on the Internet matters, because it influences readers. You. Not just my friends, or family, or nosey friend from high school. It could be anybody. Now that is huge.
So I started thinking I need to do better, work harder and for god’s sakes learn how to write. Or at the very least remember to spell check. Panic hit me and I was going to reinvent the wheel and myself. Possibly learn a foreign language most people never heard of and write in it. Wait, that would be my mother tongue! Good, guess I will always have a back up plan.
Then again, if one day my son reads this blog and thinks “my mom wrote every single day about how good her life is and how happy we are” I believe I accomplished what I set out to do. There will be no book deals and no Pulitzer prizes on my desk, but forever and ever somewhere in cyber space it is written these are the days of sheer joy in my corner of the world. I think that is good enough.
And if I ever fail to make sense to you, keep this in mind. A nifty little analysis tool said it best:
To me it is a huge compliment. I love his books. But some don’t. That’s life.