Blogging seemed like a great idea initially. I love writing; it gives me a release and lets me practise my chosen career path, plus is bulks up a portfolio and shows future employers that I’m always active. A win, win situation, right?
I’m not so sure. The thing is, with today’s online society, we are saturated with bloggers. Beauty bloggers, fashion bloggers, travel bloggers, music bloggers, movie bloggers, mummy bloggers, vegan bloggers, gluten-free bloggers. Hell, just pick a subject and I’ll guarantee there is a blog for that- probably even a YouTube channel to boot.
Now, I’m not a mother, and I ain’t planning on that for a long time, if I ever do plan on it. I literally can’t be bothered to cook enough to warrant writing about it. I love fashion and beauty but I’m not exactly a pro, no one wants my tips or play-by-play of me getting dressed each morning.
I feel like I’m losing sight of what exactly I should blog about. All I know everything about is me.
I was chatting with a fellow blogger and friend of mine, Clarisse (who runs an anonymous blog, so sadly I can’t link out to her), about this itch that I can’t quite scratch. And she told me how much she enjoyed my stories and anecdotes. My dating mishaps, my general life conundrums, and that’s when it hit me. Why can’t my topic just be what I know?
And what I know is being a 23-year-old female, British living in Toronto. I like a lot of things, and I’ll write about all of these things.
I’m good at being trained in journalism- at sticking to linguistic rules and style guides and the voice of my publisher.
But this time, the publisher, I guess, is me….
Welcome to voice of the author, 2.0. I hope I can get out of my funk and enjoy writing this blog again. I hope I can write some words that make you laugh and cry and relate.