What I Call Myself
Well, I’ve done it again. Waited until the very last day of the month to post here, but it’s not because I haven’t had anything to say. I’ve just been saying it other places.
My goal for this first year of blogging was to post once a month. That seemed doable, and reasonable, because I really don’t want to be one of those bloggers who posts so often, and so randomly, that your immediate reaction is to hit delete when you see their name. A friend wrote recently that she writes to be read, which seems like an obvious statement, perhaps, but isn’t really. Many people who write are perfectly happy to scribble in their notebooks for their own pleasure, or to share their scribblings with a trusted, select few. And some people start a blog, or a website, or Tweet, or Tumble, because they are trying to create a presence online with the hopes of snagging bigger fish so they can place their novel, or self-help book, or land a movie deal. And again, fine. We each have to find our own way.
Yes, I want more readers for my work and I write because it makes me happy, but the main point of starting my blog was to hold myself accountable, to set a goal and to stick to it, and to say something worth reading each month. So it may be the last day of the month, but I am sticking to my goal, and I have now since January, and though it is a small thing, it makes me feel good, because if I can do this, I can probably do much harder things on a regular basis also.
So, as I said, though I haven’t posted in my blog for a month, I have been writing elsewhere, and that dedication is paying off. I’m deep in revision on a book of poetry for adults. And I’m writing and revising a poetry book for children. And it feels great. The gears are all clicking, and the mental machinery is moving forward. And the biggest revelation is that I no longer mumble the word writer when talking about myself. And trust me, I did for most of my life. Oh, I knew it was true in my heart, in my core, but to say the word aloud? To post it in a blog? To talk about it freely? To toss it out there casually on Facebook? Not so much.
Just this week, a dear friend and champion of the arts for all women, made me pause when she said in response to a Facebook post I made, “Don’t you love that you are a writer? Not teacher or mom or whatever else, but writer! Love that, Cathy.”
And you know what? I love that, too.
Is there something you have always wanted to do? Is there something you have always longed to be? Is there some small step you can take, some move toward accountability?
It’s not too late.
Come with me. 
Too often, I get stuck in daily ruts. Your post is a lovely reminder to make time to dream about possibilities! Thank you!