>The Little Blog

I started a blog without ever having heard of the term ‘mommyblogger,’ without any hope of sponsorships or advertising revenue or free products. I started a blog so that I could write down the stories of my life as a mother and a 30-something-year-old woman. I started a blog hoping that someone, somewhere would read what I had written and say to themselves, “I can relate.” Or at least, “Well, that was interesting.”

I started a blog and a few people started reading it. I made some friends. And it was good.

I was offered a chance to join an advertising network, and I accepted. I got a job writing a weekly column based on my blog for the local newspaper. I began getting interview requests from reporters who wanted to find out what this “mommyblogging” thing was all about. My blog design became more sophisticated and ads began to fill the sidebars.

But the stories at the heart of my blog remained the same.

When I was feeling like the best mother in the world, I wrote about it. When I was feeling like the worst mother in the world, I wrote about it. When I felt bitchy, I wrote about it. When I wanted to sort out what I believed in and why, I wrote about it.

More people started reading. More people started criticizing me, my writing and even my family. But I was being honest. I was being myself. And somehow, in the process, I had created a community that extended around the world. It was still good.

And everyone was Twittering. And everyone was negotiating sponsorship deals and compiling press kits and discussing crazy topics like search engine optimization. The blogging conferences I attended became less about meeting online friends in person and more about sharing information on how to make more money.

I tried to keep up with the changes, but it wasn’t easy. Marketing has never been my thing. And so mostly, I just kept writing. It was the one thing I knew I could do well. Surely, I told myself, if I did my best and stayed true to my roots, I could hold my own.

But I started to feel out of place. Very. Out of place.

And when I meet up with groups of bloggers, I feel like a stranger in a strange land. I hear women talking about the importance of keeping posts short so that they can be easily read on iPhones, about labeling the family photos I post with terms that will drive more traffic to my blog, and about never posting on Fridays because no one’s reading that day anyway. I’m beginning to wonder if the actual content of my blog and the quality of my writing even still matter.

I’ve started hearing some of the writers I respect most talk about the “characters” they’ve created for their blogs, characters that contain bits and pieces of themselves, but are cleverly gussied up and sanitized to appeal to a widespread readership. And I feel ashamed and vulnerable, because I didn’t create a character for this blog. This is actually me- often the over-the-top, entertainer me that’s reserved for nights out with my girlfriends, but me, nonetheless.

I have another blog now that isn’t personal, that doesn’t contain the stories of births and deaths and missteps and milestones. All of the information I hear about monetizing my blog and defining my online presence and growing my brand seem completely appropriate when I consider that blog.

But this blog? To me, it’s like a beating heart. It’s the story of my family. It is real and and it is honest and it is not subject to the demands of advertisers or social media consultants.

And I wonder if there’s still a place for it in this online world.

Photos from The Little House, one of my favorite childhood books.