“So, what do you write about?” the eye doctor asked.
“Pain,” I answered. I could have said life, health or my childhood memories, but pain seemed as good an answer as any. The conversations at the eye doctor have the feel of the ones at the dentist’s office.
“Really,” the doctor remarked with enthusiasm. “Where do you write?”
“I have a blog,” I said.
“Oh. You’re a blogger.” His enthusiasm was gone. He didn’t ask me anything else about my writing.
Okay, so I’m a blogger.
I haven’t personally thought of myself as a blogger, even though I see nothing wrong with it and obviously, I am one.
I’ve always looked at it like I have a blog. I like to write and I write in a blog.
I don’t usually say I’m a writer. I say I like to write.
Saying I’m a writer seems to imply many things that are not true for me, one of which is, that I make a living doing it.
My sister and I were talking over the telephone yesterday. I brought up the subject of blogs, since I’d just been to that doctor.
“I’ve never even heard of a blog until you had one. I don’t know anything about them.”
“Well, people call people with blogs bloggers,” I told her. “Apparently, some people don’t have such great attitudes about bloggers.”
“Well, I don’t see why,” my sister said.
My mom was asking what we were talking about. I could hear her in the background.
“Michelle’s a blogger Mother!” my sister shouted out, as if that was new news and kind of cool too.
“A what?” I heard my mother ask in the background.
“A blogger!” my sister said, again enthusiastically.
“Well, I knew she had a blog,” she replied, as if to say, well duh, but my mother’s tone changed when she added, “but I didn’t know she was a blogger.” The way she put emphasis on blogger left me wondering what she thought of the word. It didn’t sound like too much.
I feel like a writer. I want to do it every day. Sometimes, it’s all I want to do. I don’t think I’m that good, but I enjoy the process. I don’t like throwing away ten pages that it took to get one decent and maybe even nice sentence or paragraph, but I sure like it when I get it right.
When I don’t write, it’s because I’m either sick or too busy. If I ran out of ideas, I think my memory would have had to have failed me completely. I simply run out of energy or can’t concentrate.
Writer or blogger, either way, I like to write and I write in a blog.