I began writing a waffling, slightly navel-gazing reflection on the state of my blog as it stands and the direction in which it is heading. Then I thought, “aw, forget it!” This is my blog. This is my writing space. While I do think it’s pretty damn cool that about 650 of you are reading it, I’m not writing it for you.
This past weekend, I had a realization. Since I wasn’t dressed in a costume or locked away in a room full of gamers, most people assumed I was one of the scads of writers in attendance. After telling the nth person that no, I’m not a writer, it finally dawned on me that in fact, I am a writer.
I write non-fiction.
This blog, the reviews, and my professional writing are all non-fiction. I find it highly ironic that I’m writing in a genre I generally don’t care to read in book form. Nevertheless, it’s what I am doing, and the surprising thing is that for the most part, I enjoy doing it.
All this is to say, I’m going to try to stop feeling guilty about pummeling my readers with reviews and non-librarian-y things and just write about whatever I feel like whenever I get the urge to do it.
Besides, you all should have had an idea of what you’d be getting when you started reading a blog with the word “eclectic” in the title.
