I’ve written and rewritten this post so many times already. I think I’m having such a hard time composing my thoughts because book blogging has come to mean so much to me. I may have started this with no real direction, no real thought about the future and no altruistic reason for doing so. But it’s developed into something I love doing and it’s introduced me to a community I’m incredibly proud to be a part of.
When I started out I shied away from the term “blogger.” But now I embrace it. I see book bloggers as those readers who care so deeply about the books they read that they want to share their love of reading with others. They want to shine the spotlight on the authors they love. And they do all this in their spare time. They do all this without any real compensation. They do all this without any guarantee of success or praise or even notice.
And it is because of this that I feel so happy, so privileged, so honored to call myself a book blogger.
Blogging about books has given me an outlet for all those thoughts that rattle around in my head. It’s given me a forum to voice my opinions on not only my thoughts about books but on anything book-related I feel like talking about. It’s introduced me to a group of people who are equally as passionate as I am about the books we read.
And it’s given me an overwhelming sense of accomplishment for sticking with something even when it’s not easy, for trying new things instead of keeping a closed mind, for taking risks when I’d much rather take the safe road and for being myself even though following in someone else’s footsteps might be easier.
Blogging has allowed me to be creative. It’s shown me that I am capable of things I’d never thought possible. It’s given me back a voice I wasn’t sure I’d ever see again. And it’s helped me fill that void of time that television just couldn’t fill.
Blogging has given me something I can call my own. It’s given me the chance to connect with the wonderfully amazing writers that were simply names on a cover page heretofore. It’s given me the courage to meet new people. And every so often it makes me feel as if something I’ve said makes a difference to more than just me or my friends and family.
And blogging about books means that I’m doing something I love doing. I’m doing something for me and no one else. And I’m doing it because I choose to do it, not because someone thinks I should.
My blogs are a little piece of me. Out there. On the interwebs. For the whole world to see. To ignore. To enjoy. To hate.
But hey, at least I’m putting myself out there. And that’s more than I can say about the me from two years ago.
So, yes, book blogging means so much more to me than just these few words I can use to express its meaning in this short-for-me blog post. It means creativity. It means friendship. It means courage. It means joy. It means pain. It means hard work. It means heartbreak. It means envy. It means pride. It means sleepless nights. It means secrets. It means drama. It means smiles. It means trust. It means honesty. It means dishonesty. It means laughter. It means love.