Alright, friends. Or, is it just Grandma reading this? (Hi, Grandma.)
I need to talk to you.
And then I need you to talk to me and answer my questions at the end.
I feel like that 8 year old that tells you every recess of 2nd grade that he is going to be an astronaut, and you’re like, “Yay, Jared R.! You’ll make it! Dream big!” even though you know, in twenty years, Jared R. is going to be a colonic hydrotherapist.
I’m worried I’m Jared R. I’ve been worried about being Jared R. for about two and a half years now.
…but, I think I’m going to do this. THIS. This blog thing. Sort of.
I am so hungry for a return to the literary world! About six months ago, I found myself digging out an old Hawthorne book to read a few of his stories before bed. If you know anything about Nathaniel Hawthorne, you know that’s a little unsettling. Talk about dark bedtime reading.
That’s when I knew: I’m in. I miss writing. I need to put down Hawthorne, and get my Jared on.
So, I looked into a master’s of literature program at my local university, and I was sold. After discussing it with Brian, I realized this is far from the ideal time of life to be going back to school. I work in an unrelated field, I have a one year old and two year old, and I’d have to take out student loans. There really is no monetary benefit to advancing my education, and I don’t think recreational schooling is an option in my life right now.
The alternative? Writing HERE. Regularly. Holding myself accountable. Stretching myself. Pushing myself. Making this my little “masters” project for the time being. Brian encouraged it, but I feel hesitant, like I’ve felt for years. But, the butterflies in my stomach tell me I have to push myself now, or kick myself later for shying away from something I love.
Listen, if I’m going to “blog,” and tell people about it, it’s important to ME that you know the following things:
My intent is not to be well known. My intent is to polish up my rusty writing, be consistent, and hopefully stumble upon a freelance opportunity, editorial work, or get future pieces published.
I’m not trying to convince you I’m pretty.
I am resistant to being a blogger. You know, a blogggggger. I feel like the universe will insist I eat macarons in my bed and wear Louboutins to Costco, and while my dozen or so fashion blogging friends are gorgeous make it look fabulous, it’s not authentic to my life right at this moment. I would love to dress up, and I’m definitely a girly, sparkly, lipsticky girl, but I already have a separate, energy intensive job. The days I have laying around with my babies in jammies, not caring how crazy my house looks are days I treasure. But you other bloggers? Giiiiit it, girls.
I feel super vulnerable and a little nervous, because this is personal. It’s my personal life and thoughts, not just clothes, or great deals, or recipes. This is my life. What the heck else am I going to write about?
Questions for you—
Do you think the “visual aid” part of social media (ie blogs) is weighed heavily in it’s success?
How do we collectively feel about posting photos of kids on a public platform?
Is this an okay idea?
Can I post just like, once or twice a week in lieu of an actual “homework assignment”?
Do you want me and Jared R. to wave to you from the moon?