wine & cupcakes: what the hell do i know.

So. I'm having some blogger block issues, and starting to google things like "what to blog about" and "blog topics." And I'm seriously mulling over accepting ideas from mommy bloggers. There are a lot of them. Things like: The One Movie Out Right Now I Absolutely MUST See (what if there are 25 of them?) and My Favorite Thanksgiving Recipes (what if your favorite Thanksgiving recipes come from the deli section of the local supermarket?) and A Guide to Your Hometown (what if you'd like to move out of your hometown?) The Worst Birthday You Ever Had--but be funny! (but what if it still makes you weep?) (Seriously, mine was my 16th birthday and it still makes me weep...I don't remember exactly what happened. Just sitting on my bed, weeping, going: This is my saddest birthday. EVER. And promising myself to never forget that it was my saddest birthday ever, and I haven't forgotten. I've just forgotten WHY it was the saddest).

At any rate: Mommy blogging--I'm cringing here. I don't want to invoke the wrath of any mommy bloggers or anything, because they certainly have a niche and mad props/respect to that. Also god knows, I get some of my best recipe and DIY ideas on Pinterest from them.  And some of them are seriously stupendously amusing and funny--ought to be touring the country, doing stand up, not wiping boogers and butts. And yet. I don't want to be in their ranks. I just don't. I'm sorry, but I don't. 

If it helps any, please know I feel the same about trashy beach romance writing. I was in the public library yesterday checking out books for Miss M and me, and I considered checking out one or two trashy romances, just so I could read and analyze; I hear it can make one quite a lucrative living, if done right. But then I just couldn't. I couldn't! I checked out An Untamed State by Roxane Gay instead; it's more the kind of thing I'd want to write. And sure enough, I was uncomfortable and awed by page 3 and in tears by page 6.  My god, what a story (my god, what a writer).

So mommy blogging and trashy romance novels: I enjoy both from time to time, but it's not my schtick.

(The ironic hypocrisy here is that I started this blog under the guise of a writing blog. A writer writing about writing. And now I only write about writing once in awhile, and about everything else the rest of the time. ........I suspect this is because my blogging is mirroring my writer's life in that it is unfocused, unscheduled, haphazard, and full of distractions like having to attend to the demanding needs of a 6 year old and work a full-time, draining job that involves a lot of having to attend to the demanding needs of a lot of 7-8 year olds. But I digress.)

I do realize I write about my kid now and then, and I do so because she's a humongous part of who I am and my life...but do know: I'm really, really fighting it,  becoming a mommy blogger. My name is Amy. And I am a writer and a teacher and a mom and a woman. Who likes wine and books and cupcakes and naps and indie films and indie books and too much chocolate and traveling and beaches and long hikes and lakes and mermaids and words and telling stories and listening to other people's stories. Being someone's mother really is only 1/10 of who I am. And I'm okay with typing this out loud--partly because I've had 3 glasses of this fabulous Carmenere wine** I found and partly because I think it's really important for women not to become too tied up with other people's ideas of what their identity should be. We are told from an early age "how" little girls should be (and little boys are told "how" they should be...sugar and spice and everything nice etc and so forth) and when I became a mother to a little girl, it became poignantly important to me not to confine her, to set an example for her as to "how" girls should be. And that "how" literally has no definition, ladies. There should be no HOW. For us. You like sports? Go for it. You like pretty pretty princesses? That's all you. You want to wear a tiara while you get your Tai Kwan Do black belt? Go you, girlfriend!

(And by the way, are you asking yourself yet: Hey Amy, what's up with the weekday posts? I thought you only did these on the weekends? Yes, well. I'm on Thanksgiving Break is why, and so I have more energy for writing. Or just drinking a lot of wine. Whatever.)

I am drawn to women. I am drawn to their stories, and what makes women tick in this man-centric world. I am drawn to girls. I am drawn to their stories, and what makes them tick in this boy-centric society. I am drawn to children and animals and the elderly and the mentally ill and the poor, and issues of powerlessness surrounding those groups. I am drawn to social justice, and issues of Race in America. (Why in the world did an innocent young man get gunned down with twelve--TWELVE--bullets, with two policemen standing over his body in the street afterward, doing nothing? When he didn't even have a gun? How does that happen? Knowing all we know in the 21st century, looking back on all the history we have to look back on, how the hell does something like this happen? Every day? All over the place?) How and why do rapists go free? Why do people defend and justify them? Why do people defend and justify racism? Sexism? Why? Why? 

But then. i'm also drawn to cupcakes. And Pinot Noir and Carmenere and a good Riesling, so what the hell do I know? And I'm writing a story about a ghost pirate and a girl who falls in love with him. What the hell do I know. I am not a good person to question why. Most days, at least.

Roxane Gay seems far more knowledgeable about the Why's--you should read her stuff. And go find some mommy blogs! They have some recipes for holiday sangrias that look like they will rock your world. They certainly may rock mine, should I be able to gather myself together and make them.

Okay, done. The end. I think this was totally short and sweet and to the point. Which was that there really was no point. Remember? I'm struggling to write (every day! something...every day), googling things to blog about, so this is what you got. Go make some sangria and figure out how to fix racism in America. Or come up with a kick ass cupcake flavor. Or better yet, help me find a job. (Preferably telling stories. For at least $50K a year, which I don't find too ridiculous as an asking price at all.)

(End Note/Heads Up: I'm considering moving this blog to Wordpress. The reason is going to sound so shallow, and I'm so sorry if you're attached to it now or anything but: holy emojis, I can't take the blinking holiday emojis anymore. Every time I log on here, there they are--the effing holiday emojis. From Halloween still! I mean, you'd think we'd at least get some turkeys or a Santa and elves or something.  But no. No! Still pumpkins and Frankensteins. Can. Not. Take. The blinking emojis anymore. I can X out of them, but it annoys me nonetheless.) (It may take me awhile to switch over though...I'm re-working/updating my resume/s while on break. Seriously, I'm not kidding: does anyone want to hire a shallow sommelier social justice angst-y wannabe? I just need about $50K a year plus healthcare benefits. And 6 weeks of vacation. Sick days not included. Oh, and it has to be in Atlanta. I'd love to be your angst-y social justice empowering sommelier in California wine country, but for personal reasons I can't leave Georgia.)

**I'm not tech savvy enough to know if there's a time stamp to each of my blog posts, but if there is then you're probably going: Amy! You posted this at 6:30 AM! Are you drinking already?! Well, no. Not that I couldn't drink wine at 6:30 AM...if you have to wait until a certain time to drink wine, I've heard that makes you a light weight. But I was not drinking wine at 6:30 AM when I posted this. I wrote this at 11:00 PM the night before, and then uploaded it the following morning. 

Because, okay fine. Fine! I actually am a light weight wine enthusiast.

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