Girl, I know you. You blog and you send it out there and a little part of you wonders, “Does anybody really read this stuff?” And you carry on.
And another little teeny tiny part of you wishes for that one post. You know the one. The One That Goes Big.
It would be so cool. Your post, shared by hundreds. Dare I say, even thousands?
Wouldn’t that be so life-changing?
Maybe. But it’s not what you need. It’s not what any of us need. That’s the stuff that comes at you from Out There, and if I have learned anything in this game, it’s that what comes from Out There is so not in your control. The Out There stuff is nice and really exciting and so, sometimes, completely AWESOME, but really?
It’s not what you need. And oh, how we writers can be needy. Or maybe that’s just me. Is it just me? Here’s what I feel like I need, as a writer:
- For the words to come out of me. Daily.
- And for the words to make sense.
- And sometimes for the words to just hit it, just right, so I think to myself, “Well done, Dana.”
- To make sure what I write hums God’s melody.
- Tough skin.
- Fifty-thousand dollars.
Ok, just kidding about the last part but you know.
Viral posts are exciting, but what I need, as a writer, is tenacity. And hope. And what I need is to realize that prolonged work over many days is what our lives are like. And what we need is the spirit and chutzpah to do just that.
These are my marching orders: Write my world down, share it, and hope it helps a little.
So, here is your work-order, writers: Send the words out and keep at it. Build your work, like a bridge, to other people. Bridges don’t construct themselves in a day. And they don’t really care about hashtags.
Viral posts are fun. But writing is more than just fun. At least it is for me. It’s life-giving and life-changing, and life-affirming. And boy is it ever worth it.
I also want to thank you, dear readers. I started this blog in August of 2013. That’s one thousand, eight-hundred, and seventy five-ish days of working on Momsie. And I am grateful to ALL of you for hearing my voice. And then sticking around. You are a blessing.