"Hello, you've reached the Barking Mad Asylum. No one is here to take your call right now, so, after the beep please leave a message...or not."
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If blogs had answering machines, that would most likely be what you'd hear when dialing into the asylum. I'm here, only I'm not. I'm sitting here staring at the padded walls of my cell wondering if it's worth it any more to try and get out? The straight jacket isn't too terribly uncomfortable once you get used to it. However, it doesn't coordinate very well with my Christmas candy cane jammies. Yes, I really do have a pair of candy cane jammies. They are, oh-so-very comfy.
Yes m'dears, I'm back in my hole. It's dark and deep and as I look around me I can see the nail marks on the walls of this inky black abyss from the numerous other times I've tried to haul my ass out of here.
I suppose, if you were to ask me why I'm back down here I'd give you numerous reasons. One of them being an email I sent out the other day asking for a critique of a post I wrote, "The Airport." I genuinely just wanted honest opinions and any thoughts and suggestions on how to improve my writing. I'm not perfect and I'm willing to learn. However, the intention behind the email was questioned and I was accused of sending a mass email (OK it only went to about 15 people, but if that equates "mass", so be it), in order to generate hits to the blog to raise ad revenue. What the fuck? There, I said it. I didn't use the typical "WTF." While I'm at it, I might as well pull up my big girl panties and spit the rest of this out.
Had anyone wanted the text of the post in an email, I would have sent it, and actually, I did exactly that for someone who has issues loading Barking Mad because it's image-heavy. I didn't want hits. I sent it to people I respect, admire and think know a thing or two about writing. That's all. There wasn't any other impetus behind asking for a critique of my post. I stand behind everything I said in that email. What I asked for was what I wanted.
Ya know, I'm getting sick and tired of every little thing people do out here, "mommy bloggers" in particular being questioned. It's alleged that we have all sorts of nefarious money-grubbing schemes up our sleeves and in some cases, that's just not the case and it's fucking unfair to label us ALL the same way. I understand that there were cases of "bloggers behaving badly" (someone popped a blogger's infant on the head in an attempt to grab some swag. Seriously, was that vibrator/video camera/fabric softener worth it?) at this year's BlogHer conference in Chicago. Some of us aren't immune from acting like jackasses. I'm afraid for those women, it's terminal. But to paint all of us with the same brush is just asinine.
Not all of us are in this solely for the money...well what little money there is. And for those that have managed to make a career out of it, bravo! Well done. And for those who haven't figured out to how to turn your blog into a machine that changes that '79 AMC Pacer out in your driveway into a '10 BMW, and you've decided to to label all the rest of us that put our heart and souls into our blogs and might happen to be running ads, "hags" or "sell outs"...FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU and the pathetic little horse named jealousy that you rode in on!
First and foremost, I'm a writer. Always have been. Even before my career in radio and voice-work I was a writer. Like so many before me, my relationship with the blogosphere was born out of convenience. It all started out as a chronicle of my pregnancy with Gaby and her subsequent birth. I have family on the west coast and in Europe and this was a great way to keep everyone up to date. Eventually it grew. Where it's going to go, I don't know. But get one thing straight, this is my life! This is my space! And I'll do whatever the hell I want out here, whether it's run ads, post pictures, talk about my battle with depression and bulimia, share amusing anecdotes of life with a toddler and teenagers, reminisce about how I met my wonderful British hubby, post pictures of all of our cats, or bitch about anything and everything in general. How dare you infer that by asking for help; I was using it as a means to generate traffic.
Yes, I am a writer. I know I can be a better one and I'm not above asking those who are more talented with a turn of words, for help. I refuse to apologize for sending that email out. I didn't do anything wrong. If you take issue with it, it's on you and not me.
Yes m'dears, I'm back in my hole. It's dark and deep and as I look around me I can see the nail marks on the walls of this inky black abyss from the numerous other times I've tried to haul my ass out of here.
**********
I suppose, if you were to ask me why I'm back down here I'd give you numerous reasons. One of them being an email I sent out the other day asking for a critique of a post I wrote, "The Airport." I genuinely just wanted honest opinions and any thoughts and suggestions on how to improve my writing. I'm not perfect and I'm willing to learn. However, the intention behind the email was questioned and I was accused of sending a mass email (OK it only went to about 15 people, but if that equates "mass", so be it), in order to generate hits to the blog to raise ad revenue. What the fuck? There, I said it. I didn't use the typical "WTF." While I'm at it, I might as well pull up my big girl panties and spit the rest of this out.
Had anyone wanted the text of the post in an email, I would have sent it, and actually, I did exactly that for someone who has issues loading Barking Mad because it's image-heavy. I didn't want hits. I sent it to people I respect, admire and think know a thing or two about writing. That's all. There wasn't any other impetus behind asking for a critique of my post. I stand behind everything I said in that email. What I asked for was what I wanted.
Ya know, I'm getting sick and tired of every little thing people do out here, "mommy bloggers" in particular being questioned. It's alleged that we have all sorts of nefarious money-grubbing schemes up our sleeves and in some cases, that's just not the case and it's fucking unfair to label us ALL the same way. I understand that there were cases of "bloggers behaving badly" (someone popped a blogger's infant on the head in an attempt to grab some swag. Seriously, was that vibrator/video camera/fabric softener worth it?) at this year's BlogHer conference in Chicago. Some of us aren't immune from acting like jackasses. I'm afraid for those women, it's terminal. But to paint all of us with the same brush is just asinine.
Not all of us are in this solely for the money...well what little money there is. And for those that have managed to make a career out of it, bravo! Well done. And for those who haven't figured out to how to turn your blog into a machine that changes that '79 AMC Pacer out in your driveway into a '10 BMW, and you've decided to to label all the rest of us that put our heart and souls into our blogs and might happen to be running ads, "hags" or "sell outs"...FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU and the pathetic little horse named jealousy that you rode in on!
First and foremost, I'm a writer. Always have been. Even before my career in radio and voice-work I was a writer. Like so many before me, my relationship with the blogosphere was born out of convenience. It all started out as a chronicle of my pregnancy with Gaby and her subsequent birth. I have family on the west coast and in Europe and this was a great way to keep everyone up to date. Eventually it grew. Where it's going to go, I don't know. But get one thing straight, this is my life! This is my space! And I'll do whatever the hell I want out here, whether it's run ads, post pictures, talk about my battle with depression and bulimia, share amusing anecdotes of life with a toddler and teenagers, reminisce about how I met my wonderful British hubby, post pictures of all of our cats, or bitch about anything and everything in general. How dare you infer that by asking for help; I was using it as a means to generate traffic.
Yes, I am a writer. I know I can be a better one and I'm not above asking those who are more talented with a turn of words, for help. I refuse to apologize for sending that email out. I didn't do anything wrong. If you take issue with it, it's on you and not me.
**********
Oh my God! I got angry. Good and angry. And I'm not sorry I did. Actually, it feels pretty damned amazing to get that out.
I've been writing and then deleting this post all day and daring myself to delete the entire blog. I got myself into a really dark place after getting that email, among other struggles I'm dealing with right now, and it was just a situation I didn't want to deal with. There's so much being volleyed back and forth in Bloggywood lately about certain women sharing too much and it coming back to bite them in the ass. Then I got to thinking about the project I've been working on for the last year that deals with mommy-bloggers and the assertion that we're exploiting our children or putting them in any sort of danger. I've been so conflicted over the entire piece and my own role in the blogosphere, not just as a writer, but as a parent chronicling just about everything going on in our lives. There is so much more I want to share, because I want to know that I'm not alone, but yet I hold back because somewhere, someone is going to pick it apart and throw it in my face later and accuse me of making Gaby's life hell in the future. Someone actually had the audacity once to question my posts about depression and if perhaps I'd ever thought that Gaby was likely to be taunted or made fun of years down the line by friends of hers who would happen upon my blog.
Well...in answer to that, I would hope she sees a mother who is literally fighting for her life, a big part of which is motherhood itself. Writing is my way of coping. Putting it on a blog is my way of reaching out. I'm not ashamed of what I write. The bottom line in all of this, from the hate-filled email I got, to being questioned about future scenarios that may or may not happen...? The bottom line is that I own my words. I OWN MY WORDS.
Let me say that one more time...
I OWN MY WORDS.
And I'm not ashamed of any of them.
I've been writing and then deleting this post all day and daring myself to delete the entire blog. I got myself into a really dark place after getting that email, among other struggles I'm dealing with right now, and it was just a situation I didn't want to deal with. There's so much being volleyed back and forth in Bloggywood lately about certain women sharing too much and it coming back to bite them in the ass. Then I got to thinking about the project I've been working on for the last year that deals with mommy-bloggers and the assertion that we're exploiting our children or putting them in any sort of danger. I've been so conflicted over the entire piece and my own role in the blogosphere, not just as a writer, but as a parent chronicling just about everything going on in our lives. There is so much more I want to share, because I want to know that I'm not alone, but yet I hold back because somewhere, someone is going to pick it apart and throw it in my face later and accuse me of making Gaby's life hell in the future. Someone actually had the audacity once to question my posts about depression and if perhaps I'd ever thought that Gaby was likely to be taunted or made fun of years down the line by friends of hers who would happen upon my blog.
Well...in answer to that, I would hope she sees a mother who is literally fighting for her life, a big part of which is motherhood itself. Writing is my way of coping. Putting it on a blog is my way of reaching out. I'm not ashamed of what I write. The bottom line in all of this, from the hate-filled email I got, to being questioned about future scenarios that may or may not happen...? The bottom line is that I own my words. I OWN MY WORDS.
Let me say that one more time...
I OWN MY WORDS.
And I'm not ashamed of any of them.
