Yeah. So this morning, I read this. And just now, this. Since everything is about me, I must naturally conclude that both of these (brilliant, lovely, and talented) people were reading my mind and answering my thoughts. Of course, they cleverly disguised it so that the rest of you wouldn’t be jealous.
I’ve always enjoyed writing. Since becoming a mom, it’s meant even more to me. I’m not a great photographer, not any kind of a scrapbooker – though I wish I were. I needed some other way of preserving my kids’ childhoods. It means sanity, too; it’s a way to process the joys and frustrations and messes of motherhood.
I’d be lying if I said I’d never considered taking it to the next step. I think about it a lot. I put ads on my blog once. I wrote (well, technically still write) a column for Examiner.com. Those things didn’t feel right. They didn’t satisfy. And I’ve been afraid to do the thing I know I need to. I need to write the thing I want to write (well, first I need to figure out what that is) and put it out there for a real-live editor to read. And I’ve got to take the rejections without letting them destroy me, and keep sending out work I believe in.