Writers Write, Bloggers Blog, So What’s My Problem?

From the time I was very, very young I fancied myself a writer.  I read very well, far too young and was reading teen romances (thank you, Judy Blume’s ‘Forever’ and ‘Wifey’) and the occasional ‘adult’ romance (a la Norma Klein’s ‘Wives and Other Women‘) by the third grade.  Thinking back on these books now, I realize that I may have been way too young to be reading about losing one’s virginity and extramarital affairs.  Oye vy!  No wonder I felt so mature and ‘in the know’ about “life” as an eight-year-old girl.  And, being the only third-grader who could fill in the other kids at school about Michael and Katherine “doing it” sealed my “the girl who KNOWS” status.  After that, if there was some disagreement about something ‘grown up’ my opinion would be sought.  Come to think of it, I was kind of like the Godfather of ‘knowing too much too soon.’  I really should have made them kiss my ring or something for all the worldly wisdom I was generously sharing with my less-prolific reader friends.

And I wrote.  I wrote story after story about everything from soap opera-esque entanglements to beginning after beginning of my ‘novel.’  Needless to say, I have never written a novel and at this point of my life haven’t actually read  a novel in four or more years. Yet, I still identify myself as an avid reader and constant writer.  And I am an avid reader, it’s just now I’m reading the latest and greatest Llama Llama book to my smalls, instead of the newest Brit Chick fiction or whatever else catches my eye.  And I don’t really mind because I know that the time that my smalls will want me to read to them is very limited, so I read.

Writing lists has somehow replaced writing stories.  I don’t journal anymore.  I no longer try to think up convoluted and bizarre story lines and try to develop them into something readable.  But I have started blogging.  And that’s a good start to exercising my ‘writing’ muscles and actually matching my intentions with my actions.

I’ve been very on the fence about the direction I want for my blog.  Do I really want it to be yet another frugal living, couponing blog and do I have the dedication and time to post every deal and every coupon while they are still new?  Do I want it to be an information-based blog, reviewing products or services?  Or do I just want it to be a good representation of me and my life – the good, the funny, the ugly and sad, but most importantly, do I want my blog to be REAL?  Real for me is a smidge of schizophrenic, a pinch of manic and a dash of depressing mixed with a bucket of love, laughter and happiness and pint of arguments, frustration, tears, and heartaches.  My life is not perfect.  My family is not perfect.  Most of all I am not perfect.  I yell too often and don’t slow down to listen sometimes.  I may be emotional more often than perhaps is useful.  But I wouldn’t trade my life (I am truly blessed to have Mr. KB and my beautiful children, big and small) or change my family for anything.  As for me, I’m constantly trying (and failing and succeeding) to change myself.  Well, except my funny-factor.  That I’m keeping.

But, I will still run my coupon giveaways because it really does feel like throwing away money when I let them expire and pitch them into my ever-ready recycling box.  And I will still post about budgeting, fruaglity and personal finance because that is also what I know about and enjoy doing.  An advance warning – I’m not writing a blog FOR children.  I may use questionable or offensive (to some) language at times that is NOT MEANT FOR KIDS – yours or mine.  I’m writing for me and other adult-type people and yes, I use bad words.  Often.  I admit it openly and honestly.  See?  Not perfect.  But 100% me.

So, my new tag line, motto, blog identifier, instead of ‘feeling stabby’ (which is awesome and I love) is going to be ‘Just Like June Cleaver.  Only Fatter.  And Funnier.’  Because I think that is truly more ‘me’ than ‘feeling stabby’ (although I readily admit to feeling stabby far too often!) and I just do not dig the ‘Old Mother Hubbard’ comparisons ( I only have five kids, people, not fifteen!).