I write poems and I write prose. I write about love and anxiety and autism. I write about parenting and love. I write serious and I write silly.
I don’t have a niche. I don’t have a direction. I don’t have a thing.
I just write.
I’m not a mommy blogger or a fashion blogger. I’m not a mental health blogger or any kind of blogger. I just have a blog.
It took me a long time to reach this place, the place of sharing the words I have written, and in reality, I’ve not shared nearly as much as I one day hope to. I’m not filled to the brim with confidence like some seem to be. Each time I hit that publish button I’m filled with a sense of dread. It wasn’t good enough to be read. I make myself do it though because the words inside of me want more release than I’ve allowed them.
I’ve been their captor for so long, relegating them to spend their entire existence tucked away between journal covers and computer files, but still . . . it scares me to set them free.
As this new year approached I told myself I was going to let them go, let them flow, and let them fly.
But I haven’t. Not yet. I’ve held them and hidden them for such a long time now, I’m not certain how. I’ve only loosened the leash I’ve used to keep them tightly tethered to my soul.
I should give myself more credit. I’ve taken steps, baby steps. I took a leap of faith and started this blog. I took a few more and sent my words to be considered for publication outside of this little world I’ve begun to create and they were welcomed and sprouted wings of their own.
Still . . .
I’m not sure. Do I find a focus? My thoughts are scattered and random and I don’t think I can rein them in. Truthfully, I don’t really want to. I admire those who write with singular purpose, I am in awe of their ability to do so. I’ve never been the fitting in type, and I suppose I’ll never be. I guess I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing, each day trying to do a little more, each day just being me.
Directionless in the blogosphere . . . but happily enjoying the scenery.
I for one emensely enjoy your blog, especially the poetry.
I feel you completely!
Writing without a niche allows the truest part of you out exactly when you need and want it to be free. I just found you but I will keep reading, whether you write silly or serious.
This was beautiful. And I agree, I don’t think anyone needs a niche. It is so restrictions and if you had boxed yourself in one I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of reating this. I wish I hadn’t gotten stuck in my particular niche. I thoroughly enjoy you…
Same. Very much the same. My niche is my words. My niche is me. Let the words to when they feel right to you. Don’t think about the rest.
I always love it when you release your words- no matter on what topic or niche they may fall… they always move me deeply. They always MEAN SOMETHING.
I get it though. I have thought of so many things I want to write about that don’t fall into my ‘encouragement/motherhood/faith’ niche (I suppose that’s a niche?) and I think – “No- that’s not what the blog is for- I can’t vere from that focus/mission. It will throw everybody off and won’t keep the continuity… blah blah blah.”
Keep writing, dear one. You have a gift. You owe it to yourself to let us witness it. ❤
Do you NEED a niche? I don’t think so. The thoughts in your head are consistently beautiful and wonderous enough for me to hope you don’t stymie any of them, but let them out, in writing, to be seen.
You and I are the same, in that way – we write what we want. I figure my niche as ‘egocentric’, which works for me 🙂
The last part of that last sentence coined it! Enjoy the ride.
I know exactly what you mean, as a new blogger – and those journal covers and computer files, oh yes, those too -“The time has come to speak of many things” is part of my blog’s header. Its OK to be a wanderer of words and subjects, letting loose those ideas, memories, observations that demand escape into the world. Its not easy at first, but we hope it gets easier.