Bloggers these days seem to have lots of important things to say.
More often than not, they’re busy dishing out advice. 10 secrets to becoing a successful mompreneur. 20 things to do to make your professional life stand out. Why following a paleo diet will set your love life on fire. So on and so forth.
And when they’re not busy giving their expert opinion on something, they’re busy plastering product endorsements and reviews all over their site.
All that writing mostly stemming from the motivation of either getting lots of views and/or clicks, or capturing the attention of advertisers who are looking for virtual product ambassadors and supporters.
Where oh where are the bloggers out there who just blog for the sake of creativity or in the spirit of the arts?
This deeply disheartens me, and has many a time made me feel like my blog posts were useless and futile. Because no one would read them. No one would notice. That my voice wouldn’t matter.
Thanks to some of the bad experiences I weathered as a former journo, I also began self censoring a lot of my blog posts in the past. Such a sad thing to do, because it has made my ability to be spontaneous about posts literally vanish.
I wish I could go back to the days when I was in uni where I used to just blog without concern for what others would think or say or do. I need to return to that notion of freedom.
But it’s hard. It’s become especially harder ever since I made a career out of writing. In some ways, it was as I feared: I’ve gotten writing down to a science when it comes to making money out of it. But when it comes to the form of writing that I truly love and crave (that being creative writing, namely), I have little to show for it.
I am especially jealous and sore to note that a long time friend of mine who started out even later than I have in a writing career is actually closer to her dream now than I have ever been.
So many times I have thought of closing down this blog. In fact, a lot of the themes I write about here aren’t new. I seem to go round in circles, revisiting the same old tunes and stories every few posts or so.
Have I lost that little bit of magic? That penchant for just letting words take me wherever they will, not caring about what story might ensue?
I feel I have. And honestly, I feel empty. Like I have nothing to offer. It’s frightening.
I have more than a dozen articles to my name. Google searches turn up articles I have written in the past, some of which are, in my opinion, pretty decent. But none that I am really proud of.
How do I keep the passion bit of the equation alive in my writing? That is something I continue to struggle with.
I also tend to beat myself up (virtually, of course) over the fact that I have no nice images for my blog posts. As if images themselves were the main attraction. They do help, no doubt. But they aren’t necessary. They’re just another one of those impulses that I’m stuck with thanks to journalism.
So what do I do now? Be as random as can be for my blog posts, I suppose. Till I find my true voice. Till clarity descends and the fog in my head lifts.
Until the day the prose I write is golden, and it moves hearts the way I have always wished it would.