The short answer is that I love to write. Yesterday, I found an old Winnie the Pooh journal of mine from approximately 1993. Fears, dreams, random lists and sketches filled the pages in my scratchy 9 year old handwriting. Writing (on paper, on the computer, in my head) has been the solace, the redemption, the fulfilled need of mine for nearly 25 years. From the moment I could write I recorded my thoughts. And I’ve dabbled in blogging before, mostly in an attempt to copy the formulaic mommy blog into something financially lucrative for me. And you know what? It never felt right, and it never lasted. I wrote for a time for a well-known mommy website and blog. It filled a need of mine, but eventually that need evaporated. The reason being?
I’m a selfish writer, and I am completely unable to write content to please others. These erratic thoughts of mine? I unabashedly love them, want to pull them out of my head and create a word picture with them. But that is not the way of the blogging world these days, at least for most. So I stopped writing for over a year. But I’ve felt a nagging tug on my heart and mind to let go of the vision of perfect blogs and write for the love of it.
I can’t promise a focused topic to meet a niche market. I won’t sneak ads up and down the sides or write sponsored posts (not that I would know how anyway.) But I can promise clean, honest writing from the soul of a thinker, mother, teacher, and friend. If you crave reading and learning for your own growth and love of life, then perhaps we’ll get along.
And as this mothering life comes full-circle, I ripped out the aged, word-soaked pages of my old journal and gave the new blank book to my daughter. She may not be able to write just yet, but I cannot think of a better gift than a shared passion for writing. In the meantime, that sweet, decades old journal will wait patiently to record the thoughts of the next generation.