My Daily Diatribes

Monday, February 28, 2011

Not a MommyBlogger, But a Blogger Who Is a Mom

When I first began writing I set rigid mental parameters for myself. I didn't want to pigeon-hole myself into the MommyBlogger corner, where I wrote about nothing more than my child, his antics, and the latest reviews on trendy children's toys.

I feared that if I wrote about my son that this would become a bore, something that would interest no one. I was determined to draw an audience that would enjoy my snark on daily occurrences, I made it a point to NOT write about him in the beginning because I wanted to be thought of as a writer, not a mother who happens to write. I wanted to capture a large audience to satisfy the ego and convince myself that I had some writing chops. I wanted to be validated for no other reason that I didn't believe that I had any real talent unless someone were to tell me. Basically, I was trying to do what I've done most of my adult life: do what I believe others will enjoy/want, while I know that I am not being 100% myself.

But I've come to realize that my son is THE reason I write and I would be remiss if I didn't write about him every now and then. So I am mentally sweeping away those ridiculous parameters and will write what I want to write about, when I want to write about. And audience interest be damned.

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Like a Twitch Upon a Thread

It's a quarter til 11 and I should be in bed by ~~know~~ now. Correction. I should have been in bed at 9. Especially after I screwed up my Mass plans by being so tired to begin with. And I'm quite pissed off at myself. I failed the ora part of my alma mater's motto "Ora et labora."

With all my labora this past week at the Fair, trying to squeeze in visits with the Kiddo, and barely closing my eyes before the alarm blares at me for the third time, I took a half-assed attempt at a short-cut and cut my neck instead.

It's not a good excuse to miss my Sunday obligation. Yes, I was/am/still will be tired tomorrow, but I should have forced myself out of bed in time for the 9AM Mass and not tell myself that I could catch the 7PM Mass at the local "Catholic" university, (which surprise, surprise, I missed because I got caught at the Fair). I know far many mothers that operate on less sleep and still manage to keep going to daily Mass. Yet for me to drag my lazy ass out of bed this morning, it would have taken a team of caffeinated oxen.

And I'm pissed at myself. I hate making excuses for myself. I wish I had the fortitude today to make Mass. It's not like I'm being a crappy Catholic. I went to Confession on Saturday, so it's not like I planned, "hey save the get out of hell card for Tuesday, cuz you're gonna skip Mass on Sunday." Ugh. I feel like such a jerk!

So why am I not in bed? Well, I have too much on my mind now and I need to write it out, rather than try to fall asleep full of angst.

One pressing thing is my job situation. Kumquating, for the most part, is over. The owner will need me around sporadically during the week so between the tax refund that will cover rent for the next 4 months, and the (megar) amount of child-support and whatever I make weekly, my expenses should not be an issue, I hope. (Fingers crossed).

What do I do know? Do I go back to trying to find full time employment, possibly as a teacher for developmentally retarded teenagers? Like a cork stopping a leaky bucket, do I just dive into a job (ha, if any are available in this still crappy market) that offers a decent salary, health insurance, and a 401K? Do I try to continue to pursue my dreams of making writing a livable pursuit?

What happens if I take that plunge and write the book(s) that have been cooking in my heart and head for almost 10 years? What if I write and I can't find a way to get published? What if I do actually find a publisher, but no one wants to read my book? What if I don't even generate enough to cover printing costs?

Yea, I know I'm totally putting the cart before the horse. I mean come on dummy, you haven't even WRITTEN anything yet. How come you are letting your fears scare you this badly? You can't be afraid of failing if you fail to try.