Do you sometimes listen to yourself speak, and as you listen you hear your true heart and it surprises you?
I hear this in the way I speak. I talk about my friend who has published a novel, and then refer to myself self-deprecatingly as a “mummy-blogger”. It show me that in my heart I feel like there are many different levels of writing: the literature writer; the novel writer; the emotive and evocative writer; and the blogger. And I see a hierarchy in these forms of writing, with literature being at the top and blogging being at the bottom.
My novel-writing friend is part of my writers’ group. We started it to encourage one another. I know she would not see my work as less than hers. Yet I do.
This self-made hierarchy of mine does not take into consideration uniqueness. It also does not take into consideration my circumstances or my story. It is actually just a form of snobbery that I inflict on myself (go figure!)
But the reality is I am a writer, the same as my friend. My circumstances are not such that I could write a novel right now (too many interruptions). And if I’m honest, I actually have no desire to write a novel. Today I am knee-deep in mummy world, my story is about being a mother. So I continue to write from the place I have been given, and next time I say that I’m a “mummy-blogger” I am going to swap the self-deprecation for pride.