Le Blog

I've been mulling over the topic of blog writing; this writing outlet so commonly used by those with anything to say, irrespective of qualification or popularity (the only real requirement to have a blog being that you thought of a domain name as-yet-untaken (blog site + life form that can hit letters on a keypad = blogger.) 

More specifically, I've been thinking about this blog. This long neglected blog. I've even been wondering if I should kill it, as I've done to several before it whenever their moment of relevance to my life had expired and I had not the will/desire/courage/creativity to make them accommodate me. 

A brief history of my blog experience:

2003?-2008? 
Xanga. Oh, Xanga. I just smile remembering you. I had my day-to-day life blog on Xanga, and my stereotypical teenager "moody and brooding" poetry blog on another Xanga page, and, most influentially on my life, my novel writing Xanga. From the latter, I discovered I could write an entire novel, self-publishing it chapter by chapter for my Xanga audience, which surprisingly enough grew to a pretty decent size for a 19-year-old girl retelling Snow White in novel form. It was a good experience, even though said-novel is rather sophomoric and I can't handle reading it anymore. It's embarrassing. Talking about it here is a big step out of the denial I've been living in about it for a few years now, hoping I would somehow redeem my inner novelist by writing another novel by now, something "mature" and "original," so I could bury the memory of my first novel and glory in the transcendent achievement of my second. 

(Please hear the sarcasm in the end of the paragraph above.)

So where is that original, mature, post-English-degree novel? I'll let you know when I spit it out.

2007-present 

Facebook. Where the Internet lost its anonymity and therefore I lost my ability to fearlessly write whatever I fancied without fear of being ostracized by my acquaintances if I wrote something stupid. Anonymity breeds creativity, it seems, and my blog-self being the same self as my day-to-day self somehow squelches child-like, creative freedom. That is why, even though I am aware that this is the case, I won't be publishing my "creative" writing on the Internet anymore. I've lost my anonymity, and so I must stick to the mundane and leave the "magic" for my private portfolio until I get the urge to apply for actual, book-deal publication. 

2012-present

Blogger

Apparently Blogspot has ridden the wave of Internet fads and come out pretty unscathed as a basic blogging platform. (Whatever happened to Xanga anyway?) Again, lacking anonymity, I began blogging here as a newlywed: facing student-loan debt, working as a nanny, married to a youth pastor, living apartment life, without a DSLR camera, without crafty crafting skills or fancy lettering skills or #ootd skills. 

Someone told me to get a niche. Find your niche and just stay there! So frugal living, but with style, that was what I thought I could reach for as a niche and so this blog was born. But honestly? That stifled me over the past tumultuous year where the things most pressing on my heart and mind were really not fitting my niche. I   h a d   a   B A B Y. That sorta superseded whatever writing themes to which I had previously committed. For example: I didn't feel like planning and cooking a week of budget-friendly, farm-to-table dinners featuring game meats and homemade pasta and sharing it all with my readers. I could barely feed myself I was so tired for the 40 weeks I carried my Roger Biscuit in my belly. And when he arrived? Tired became a way of life. When did I have time or energy to write about the farmers market and fun free things to do in the summer when I barely got myself to the farmers market three times and I kinda missed summer because I was too busy learning how to feed a baby solely from my body and going back to work to care for three (and now four) other kids? 

I'm not trying to complain. Really, don't roll your eyes. I actually very much enjoy my exhausting life. I freaking love this life and go to bed happy every night, although I do fall asleep prrrrretty quickly. Why I listed the above circumstances was to say that if I'm going to keep going with this blog, I can't pigeon-hole myself into one kind of blogger. This is not a frugal living style blog. This is my life blog. This is where I get it out; whatever's inside. Will I ever post about how to be content with fewer material possessions and how to do so stylishly?  (Haha that sounds like a joke!) Yes. Of course. I love that stuff. But I may also just go for weeks or months writing about the cute crap my nanny kids say and what Dave makes for dinner (he is doing a lot more of the cooking lately, that wonderful man.)

But my question is, if that's the case, if I want to detach myself from this narrow niche, am I better off killing this blog like so many of my Xangas of yore, or should I stick with The Frugal Aesthetic and let it conform to my whims? And if I did start over, what would I name my new blog? 

New Tiny

Our downsizing into the tiniest one-bedroom imaginable will probably be remembered by me in the future as a time-warp in which my writing and general creativity simply floated in limbo. We are presently T-minus 5 days away from leaving our little dwelling of the past 6 months in favor of yet another tiny place, though this one boasts a few amenities that make it seem palatial in comparison--namely, an extra 8 or so square feet in the bedroom, and a tiny almost-bedroom for the wee bab to call his own when he graduates out of the co-sleeper bassinet. We will have FREE on-site washer/dryer shared with our downstairs duplex neighbors, basement storage priveleges, a garage, and a real life actual TUB in the bathroom, all for a little less rent than we paid in our previous two-bedroom, and this little spot also happens to be cute! The white trim on windowsills and white doors make the standard beige rental walls seem oh-so-much more visually appealing. And although the kitchen floor is drab grey linoleum, the rest of it is white, with two large, south-facing windows to bathe my kitchen plants with happy sunlight.

Although our move last October to a superlatively tiny apartment did contribute to my emotional/mental writing block, it gave me one huge benefit: making this next move into tininess feel more like an upgrade. After the past six months, I know we can live in and love tiny apartments for as long our finances require it.