I write, it's what I do. I blog about things as simple as my too large key fob and love of strawberry-scented body butter to what it felt like the day my Dad died and all I could think to do was make coffee. I write PG-13-rated honestly about the men I've slept with (the boys too), of what scares me, brings me joy and the all the creamy filling in between. The blog is like my CliffsNotes.
But why do I do it? Why do you read it?
For a long time I wanted recognition and vaults of positive comments praising my prose. I wanted hundreds, thousands of blog followers. I wanted fame, to be discovered Diablo Cody style, imagining who would play me in the movie version and insisting on which bands appeared on the soundtrack. One of the best compliments ever paid me (and I was in the room to hear) happened between the guitar player and the man who booked a big music venue where he often played.
"This is Jodie Kash," he said as way of introduction. "She's a writer. She writes a fantastic urban blog."
My heart swelled, by bosom filled and my cheeks blushed happily. But I also felt I was getting away with something. I blogged, but was I a real writer? That plus I'm a good 12 minutes north of urban, in good traffic.
I've found reputable corporate fame and (comfortable) fortune as a writer and can claim myself one unequivocally. Every morning I sit down and do just that for six, eight sometimes ten hours. It's my job and has been for 10 years. At parties or mixers when asked the ever-vanilla ice breaker, "So, what do you do?" my retort is, "I write for a web site," then further clarify the type of sales and marketing collateral it is when asked more about it (and I always am).
There are dozens of sayings and cliches about passion and purpose. Living your dream, fulfilling a destiny, boats-at-sea-and-not-tied-to-a-harbor. I have grander goals for the kind of writing I do here. The kind I envision doing every morning for six, eight or ten hours. I like that you're here to read it, enjoy or giggle or frown at it. I hope you come back and want to read more. Because I'll be writing. And the next time people ask politely over get acquainted cocktails or cookouts, "So, what do you do?"
"Me?" I'm a writer."
It's just what I do.