I first started blogging in 2007. I wanted to write. After a couple of posts, a cranky hipster wrote on a friend’s blog, criticizing my work with this comment:
It was a smack in the face. I responded with an enumeration of “facts” about who I am and why I was writing—first and foremost, clarifying that I was not, in fact, a literary editor.
So, let’s lower those expectations again as I try to dive back into the bloggy world. I write grants for a living. Before that, I was the managing editor of a literary magazine. And before that, I was the editor of a visual arts magazine. I studied magazine journalism for three years in college before switching my major to public relations. I love the immersion of writing, of swimming in images and the glinting ring of certain words when they rub up against each other. But I’m no poet.
This blog, as it has been since I began, even with the repeated starts and stops, is a collection of things I find interesting—from science to memory, justice and family, the human condition, the rain, the Other, the empty space between sighs. I hope to become a better writer by writing more frequently. I hope to move or entertain or educate those who have taken precious time out of their day to read. I hope my writing is good enough to earn your attention.
Introductions are in order: My name is Meg. I live in a small rural Ohio town nicknamed “Pigspittle.” I am in my 50s but still feel much younger than that and continue to be amazed by the amount of time that has passed since I learned how to tie my own shoes.
There is more, of course. It will come. Baby steps.