I have always been a writer.
I have never been succinct.
From primary school forwards, words were my friend. (Numbers, however, were not). Ask me for 50 words, I give you one hundred.
My first ‘published’ works were fiction snippets during my teen years. I took pleasure in seeing my ‘letters to the editor’, small magazine articles, semi regular columns in my local newspaper. In later years a few of my ‘Penny Dreadfuls’ made print. After the birth of my son, I was commissioned to write a series of 12 manuscript modules for a training Institution. Although the pay wasn’t huge, it fed and clothed us for 12 months, and I could claim the title of ‘writer’ with a little legitimacy.
It was this love of words that led me to blogging.
I began blogging in 2005. My initial blog was more an extension of myself than a ‘platform’. It was a place where I could pour out my words and attain some form of instant gratification by seeing my words in print.
It was an extension of ‘me’. It was my love of food – of tastes, flavours, passion for produce. It was my love of home renovation, restoration and design. It was my child’s life in words and images, it was my life in parody, pleasure and pain. It was reflections on the families in my classroom, the children I taught, the oddness of some and the kindness of others. I wrote of growing up with a dysfunctional family, of alcoholism and abuse, the death of a parent, the discovery of myself and 5 brothers of whose existence I didn’t even know. It was a place to pour pleasure and pain onto paper.
My renovations made magazines such as Country Home ideas and House, culminating in a wonderful 5 page spread with images. I am still pretty proud of that. My parodies have been reprinted for family fun, and I am often asked to revisit that skill and write up funny verse for a family event. But over the years, as a busy mum, teacher, part business owner, landlord and more, my skills have depleted. Squashed down by time constraints. Bound down by work policy – social media use by teachers is now strongly frowned upon unless it has some type of anonymity. And as life has ramped up the expectations of fitting 36 hours work into a 24 hour a day, much of myself has fallen by the wayside.
These days, it seems you are not a ‘blogger’ if you don’t have a platform. You need a ‘brand’. There are style bloggers and fashion bloggers and hair bloggers and perfume bloggers. There are chef bloggers and food bloggers and restaurant review bloggers and wine bloggers. There are the mummy bloggers. The minority bloggers. The body issue bloggers. There are author bloggers and fan club bloggers and stalking bloggers and florist bloggers and bloggers that only write for the 18+ marketplace. And some of these are DAMN GOOD bloggers.I love what they do, and their niche markets. Others are crap. I skip them.
I am not a something blogger. I am just person who likes to write about what I like. My blog is a just a well rounded place to visit where you, as a reader, can learn about me, should you so wish. My house. My home. My renovations. My family. My environment. And my travels with food – every cooking, eating, shopping, tasting, smelling, spicy glorious moment of it.
Verbosity is an extension of me. So is my blog.