I’m not ignorant. At least not most of the time. Like except when people who claim to be family or friends or people who “care” give me “healthy” advice like “Starbucks is too expensive you should really consider cutting back.” Whhhatt??! How fucking DARE you! You know NOTHING. You are NOTHING! :::slurping noises from my almost-empty venti caramel macchiato resonate across oceans of envy and hate:::
But when it comes down to things like writing, for instance? I’m well aware of my “skill” level. I mean I mostly rebel against what any respectable writer would deem as “promising” in the blogosphere. I don’t post big shiny pictures worth a thousand pixels nor would I ever find a need to post videos of any kind of myself on here because don’t look at me. I don’t link shit to Pinterest because I don’t give a damn about Pinterest unless I need a fancy quote to impress people with. Personally, I think Pinterest is a massive distraction that gives us false hopes of beautiful things we know we could never find the fucking time nor patience to create. Also? I don’t have little DIY tutorials. It’s against my religion. And Only stay at home moms have time for this type of nonsense fuckery. And I barely have anything chipper to talk about. Which makes my blog that much less appealing I get it but come on….if I was a Chipper Chelsea I’d probably have nothing to write about anyways. I’m here because I’m broken and glittery and I want the world to know that real does exist.
I have real shit happening in my life and I’m interested in exposing my journeys and the twisted insides of my misunderstood mind. I’m not interested in a million followers. I’m interested in 100 loyal and responsive ones. I’m not interested in 1,000 likes. I’m interested in the 10 comments that fuel friendships and initiate conversations. I’m not here to financially prosper from my writing. Don’t get me wrong, if I randomly become like the Cardi B. of blogging overnight then I’ll take it. But I’m not fucking changing for anyone or anything anymore and I’m so sick and tired of bloggers telling each other what to do and not do. Who do you even think you even ARE?!
I’m not saying I can’t appreciate advice when it’s asked for by novice bloggers. And I’m not talking about the obvious 101 shit that all bloggers should know from the get… “hey don’t forget to link your user name to your blog” or “hey you should add a subscribe or follow button”. Duh.
I’m talking about those factory, commercialized bloggers sitting on their little virtual thrones “educating” people on what kind of content is appropriate or what kinds of topics are favorable to appeal to a broader audience or what kind of language or writing style they should aim for or what might be “too intimate to share”.
Don’t fucking tell me what to do. You are NOT my keeper. I am an untamed wild psycho raging writer-beast and I will write about whatever the hell sets my little soul on fire on that particular day in that particular moment. Go play in traffic.
Personally speaking, at some point in my life I was pretty serious about writing from a monetary perspective. I meant business. I self-hosted my blog so that I can make a living from my writing and I tried being that crisp, clean-cut, mommy writer and I was reading books about how to write books ya’ll. I repeat: I was reading books about how to write fucking books.
The “laugh now” sign is blinking guys, go ahead. Laugh it up.
And so there I was, suddenly re-teaching myself all of the proper “grammar rules” I had learned in the fifth grade. I was looking for “my story”…for “my niche”. I was waiting for “my moment”. I was praying for my “big break” as an author oh God this is so painful to write. I was researching agents even though I hadn’t actually written a single fucking page nor did I have a silhouette of an idea about what this “story” I was working on was even about. I was reading the thesaurus for fun- well, I was forcing myself to. And I was writing like some reject from the renaissance era who insisted on using words that no one even knew existed because I thought ok this is how you impress people. You use really complex words and speak in pure metaphor until they oooooh and ahhhh and give you a book contract. You sound smart even though you feel stupid. You post pretty pictures and you speak eloquently until all the mommy-bloggers surrender their souls to you.
Ely- you were such a twat. I hate you. Seriously. Just kidding girl I love you, you’re a badass.
I’m pretty sure I completely lost my mind during those times. Honestly. When people saw me reading from a stack of writing technique books and would dare ask me what I was up to I had the audacity to say that I was “working on getting a novel published.” Wait what?! The fuck?! Did you say?! No bitch. You’re not “writing” anything. You’re reviewing fifth grade. And my blogging voice was just 50 shades of fake and I was just So. So. So. So. overwhelmed and consumed with the notion of being perfect. Of being accepted. Of being someone’s inspiration.
But I always have been all of those things in my own little ways.
I’m quite embarrassed. I’m not even gonna lie. And not because I wanted to make something of my writing but rather, for losing all sense of authenticity and Ely-ness. All because I was so intimidated by well-polished, money-hungry bloggers who always had some fucking overrated opinion to rip someone’s hopes and dreams apart with. And I was so intimidated by “researching” what it takes to be a “successful” blogger or writer that I lost all sight of what I really wanted- which was to simply write. I mean? What is SUCCESS. Like define success?
Because for me, to “succeed” in terms of my blog or just writing in general simply means to make people laugh by being ridiculous and relatable and raw and connecting with others at that level of “no way? YOU TOO?! Damn I thought I was the only one…” Success around here for ME means I made some potentially life-long bad-ass writer friends who are a huge part of my inspiration and support system. Success means that I feel a little bit less weight on my shoulders after every single time I hit “publish” and I get all middle-school-crush-giddy whenever I get notifications with new comments, and new followers because it further validates my passion and the fact that my words mean something to someone. Regardless of how INSANE or intense or over-the-top my words may be.
I’ll wrap this rant up by saying that I’m not in any way suggesting that I’ve earned the royal rights to rant about, criticize, or judge other writers. I’ll extend that clarification as a courtesy for the soft little sheepish sheepy fluffy sheeps out there. I’m just not a fan of self-righteous writers who think they know it all and have all the answers even when the questions weren’t asked to be-fuckin-gin with. You’re not a wizard. You’re not Jesus. And you’re not better than me. Get over yourself. If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask for it. If I needed your help, I’d ask for it. If you feel some type of way about my writing or my blog? Toss up the deuces.
We are all here on our own journeys. Support one another and if a writer isn’t your cup of tea, then fucking unfollow them and keep it movin!
WRITE. And let fucking WRITE.