Song of the month: Cut to the feeling, Carly Rae Jepsen
Oh woes me, Ria’s back at it again with another existential crisis. This was going to be a whole separate post but it looks like this is side stepping into my May round up. This month for me flew by in a dizzy haze of mixed emotions. Part combination of mid-twenties crisis / post-holiday blues / general anger at how effing cruel the world can be as the Manchester attack hit very personally. My brain frazzled. I’ve taken time out and well, the result is this post (which, I’m not entirely sure makes much sense)…
Blogger no more?
I’ve spent the last month thinking about the way I categorise myself. Labels for me are useful and as bad as it is I like applying them to myself.
I am many things. A woman. A Filipina. A Brit. A daughter. A sister. A nerd. A Ravenclaw. A bookworm. One label I’ve been happy to stick with for a number of years and has held pride of place in many bios on the Internet is ‘blogger’.
Blogger: a person who regularly writes material for a blog.
Or so was the definition of I was happy to parrot to people over 5 years ago when I first started out. Obviously since then that definition has morphed into something wholly different. Something ‘more’. And whilst I made a few feeble attempts to prescribe to the idea of what a ‘blogger’ is, I’ve found myself shifting away from the ‘B’ word. Reluctant to announce it as my status. (I’ve even sneakily taken it down from some of my social media bios)
It’s not you, it’s me
It’s not that I think that the label is tainted or negative in any way. It’s more of a matter that I don’t feel comfortable labelling myself with that moniker anymore. I don’t fit the definition of what a blogger is right now in 2017. When people picture ‘bloggers’ they don’t see me. They see the curated feeds, editorial-esque spreads and polished articles. They see consistent content and active social media accounts, spouting wonderful opinionated, introspective, commentary, or deeply personal essays. They don’t picture me. Which I’m fine with. The industry and blogging itself has evolved. I just haven’t bothered or have had the energy to keep up with it. And I’ve come to a very simple conclusion with all this.
I have a blog but I’m not a ‘blogger’ anymore.
Shying away from the ‘blogger’ label has meant picking up other instead. Feminist. Activist. Writer.
The last of those is one acquired after years of self-doubt. The complete irony being that just as I’ve grown the confidence to call myself a writer, I’m losing the label which has defined so much of my Internet existence for half a dozen or so years of my life.
So is this you ‘quitting’ blogging?
Well no, but TMM may ‘feel’ a little different? I want to dedicate less time to worrying about getting a blog post up and schedules. I don’t want to be beholden to Editorial calendars and empty promises of sharing content and my life. I want to spend more time on my creative writing, without feeling guilty that my blog looks empty for a bit. I want to spend more time in the other spaces I do have a responsibility to write and curate content like on Blogger’s Bookshelf and Resonate.
So this is definitely not a farewell. It’s more of a catch you later? See you on the Internet? Keep an eye out for me in other places? idk If you miss me that much as I say my Twitter is always open. Say hello. In the meantime I’m re-assessing what this space is for me. Thanks for your patience.
p.s. existential crisis aside, I’m so humbled by the lovely messages regarding the announcement that I’ll be published for the first time in 404 Ink. Be sure to pre-order Issue 2 of their magazine to see my new piece of poetry.