Today I was asked by an executive at work if I had any experience in writing to help with a special project.
I honestly didn’t know how to answer. No, my 3/4s of a college degree didn’t involve any studies in writing, but I was okay at it in high school. You know, 15 years ago.
At that moment I had actually forgotten about this little blog.
But certainly I can’t call myself a writer from the occasional blurb that I throw up here.
Because meal plans and recipe postings aren’t real writing.
And more often than not, I’m talking to myself and those 15 spammers that can’t stop leaving comments on a post from 3 years ago.
However, more and more, I’ve missed this space. And it makes me sad to think about how neglected it has been over the last year. Even if it is only half-assed meal plans.
To make matters worse, in a month I have to decide if I want to continue to host this site and pay another $100+ for my words to hang out on the Internet in the hopes that someone will some day stumble upon them looking for “chicken boobs.”
But the alternative seems even worse. To see those words drift away without a trace.
I’ve given so much of myself to this blog, with very little return of investment. But it feels like I would be losing a part of myself to let it go.
But am I really a writer?