Just Call Me Blogress

Like a Tigress, only bloggier!

Riding in the car with my hubby a few weeks ago, in the dark, having just crossed the Michigan State line, I was telling my hubby about the number of hits I was getting on my blog, according to my mobile WordPress app. I was throwing up pretty good numbers for someone who isn’t very good at posting every day. He looked at me and said in all seriousness, “That the kind of stats you want to hear from a Blogress.” I had to stop him, and ask him if he’d said “Bloggess,” because we’d been talking about Jenny just a few days before (and her hysterical SexIs Funny column), and I thought maybe he’d assumed that was a common term. Nope. He’d come up with this just off the top of his head. It made me feel good, it made me feel like I was really accomplishing something with this, and then there was the laughing! I pictured myself a full-fledged Saturday morning cartoon Super Hero. Shades of a chunky* Cheetara or She-Ra. Heck, how about Cover Girl from G. I. Joe? What? No one else remembers her? Just me? Okay, then.

Honestly, it was the first time I realized he was proud of me, for putting myself out there, and actually writing. He’s been telling me for, oh, 14 years, that I need to write a book. He can’t understand why I can’t (or don’t) just do it. Honestly, I don’t understand it myself. I have all these great ideas, and then….pfffffffttttt. They fizzle out long before I can flesh out a full story. Perhaps I’m going about it all wrong. Perhaps I need to look at it like a job, and dedicate some time every day to it, like I’m trying to do with this blog. Do I succeed every day? Nope, but I’m no quitter. Not really. I’m more of a “non-starter.” When it’s something I’m afraid to fail at, I don’t seriously start. I cannot begin to tell you the how frightening the thought of years and years, and hundreds upon hundreds of rejection letters from editors is to me. So, I’m starting small. I’m here. Writing what I know. What I know is me. What I know is my family. What I know is the things that hold me back. Hopefully I’d don’t whine to excess, or bore your socks off.

For now, I cling to knowing that there are a people who are proud of me for taking this one step.

*We use the comedian Gabriel Iglesias’ size scale, although, I exchange chunky for “husky”. Boy’s are husky. Just check the Sears or JC Penny catalog if you don’t believe me. If you aren’t familiar I’ll run it down for you:

Level 1: Big

Level 2: Healthy

Level 3: Husky

Level 4: Fluffy (where Gabriel states he ranks)

Level 5: D@@@@@mn

Level 6: Oh H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks No


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