How to lose a guy in 7 days

It was the shortest relationship I’ve ever had.

Laughable, almost.

***

I don’t like to put a timeline on my life. I don’t like to say you should arguing with your S/O over how many pillows you should have on your bed at age 27. Or you should be making x amount of money at the age of 30.

I don’t believe life should or can be lived that way.

Life comes and goes as it does. People enter and exit whether we want them to or not.

***

Men should be so lucky to date me. I tell my friend in full confidence over $10 vodka sodas at Union Market. I mean it, I really do.

And not in a “I’m too good for everyone which is why I’m single” sort of way. In a way that I’m aware of the qualities I posses and I know someday I’ll find someone who complements in a way that I see fit.

Sometimes I get impatient is all.

I wasn’t as self-aware a year ago. As I have talked about many times, I had been exiting a toxic thing, my career was in shit, I was lost living life in an endless fog and every one else was to blame for my problems.

From there, I started to take more control over my life and the decisions I made. I was more proactive instead of reactive. Thought with more logic and stopped putting my mental health in the hands of someone else. Life got exponentially better.

***

The story was so eerily similar and triggering I can’t explain why I stuck around.

Well, maybe that’s why I did. The story — the characters, the setting. It was practically the same.

Two men. Same occupation, covered with tattoos and realities they couldn’t face. Subconsciously, I wanted to fix the problems they had. And in retrospect, maybe I wanted them to fix mine too.

He was creative. Passionate. Edgy.

Two drinks in and his hand touched my thigh. I told him I didn’t like PDA. As we walked to the next bar, he pulled me to the side. I know you don’t like PDA, but this outside of the bar, so does it count? He put his hands around my neck as he kissed me. We’re awesome, he whispers in my ear.

The emotions were intense from the beginning — on both ends. He was vocal about how he felt, forward if you will.

I go away for a few days, our texts were frequent. He informs me of a “primary partner” in his life. I inquire further. He labels it as “progressive.” I’m skeptical and a bit taken aback but I don’t really know him all that well, who am I to judge?

We are so awesome together, Beth.

The red flags become brighter, but I’m already wrapped in. Besides the chemistry in the bedroom, there’s something more here too. I wasn’t sure I was looking for something serious, but he was insistent that this was where it was going.

It feels weird to bring this up on the second time we hangout, but I can really see this going somewhere Beth, I like you so much.

We’re outside. It’s 1:30am. The night is still warm, the ground wet from the rain fall. I tell him I feel the same way. Because I did. I did feel the same way. I rest my head on his shoulder. It feels right.

I ignore the hours and hours in between text messages. With our work schedules, it was inevitable. I didn’t need to text him all the time anyways. I ignore the times he “forgets” about our plans and the false promises to spend time together outside the confines of our apartment bedrooms. I ignore the verbal warnings from not one, but two women about his past behavior.

He passes them off as “crazy.” I nod.

I call him out for being a narcissist. I’m kidding, but like not really actually at all. I can practically sniff a narcissist from a mile away at this point.

I’ll spare you the countless bickering and back and forths we’d get into over him being sketchy. Gimme a break dude, I’m fucking working. Do you even work? How do you have this time to text? I ignore this blatant disrespect for my job and ignore. However, when I don’t answer him…y’all know how this game goes.

I confide him with details about my previous relationship to explain why communication is important to me. He seems to be completely understanding and supportive.

We progress. Or at least I pretend that we are. Our feelings for each other are intense. One moment we’re having this incredibly engaging conversation, the next moment we’re having mind-blowing sex and the next moment we want to rip each other’s heads off.

Have you forgotten about the primary partner yet? Ah yes, by this point he has completely ended things with her. For me…apparently. Similar to my previous relationship, she has mental problems too. However, she’s “supportive” of us. She wants him to be happy.

Here’s where things get good. Strap up ladies and gents.

We had just finished yet another night of arguing. He comes over before work, I’m crying. He knows he has me. A string of lies and false promises spill from his lips. We kiss goodbye.

I finish a spin class. I haven’t heard from him in a few hours, I’m assuming he’s busy. I go to the store and pick him up a coffee to surprise him at work. The establishment is empty. I walk to to the back where he works and I pause.

I’m horrible in awkward and tense situations. We all say nothing. I poke him. I know who she is and she knows who I am. My head sweats, I break the silence with a hello and a swift exit.

He races me to the front door, what’s up babe? no hug or kiss? I explain to him I’m upset but I’m not about to talk it in the middle of the sidewalk. He looks at me confused. Nothing is going on babe, you know we’re still friends, she came here to help me with work stuff.

I put my head down and walk away. I cry for a second time before the night falls.

I find a random alleyway and sit down and continue my cry sesh. I’m caught up in this shit againFuck. I think about the hell of the year I had and the progress I’ve made this far. My hands sit on my head. My mascara stains my white shirt. I think about the breakdowns I’d have in the corner of my room. Single stream tears erupt into never ending currents. Strong and forceful. You ok over there? A random passerby inquires. Yea, thanks. 

I lie.

I forgive him, because that’s just what I do with guys like this. I forgive. I forgive them without ever forgiving myself.

I can’t quite remember the timeline correctly, but within the next couple of days I am his girlfriend. I thought that may be the solution to all of our problems. Well, I knew it wasn’t but he asked me, and I said yes.

The term “girlfriend” holds some sort of validation to me, still. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s because I haven’t been someone’s “girlfriend” in years. Or perhaps when he said it, it held more weight because he had been convincing me since basically day one that I was the only one he wanted.

Or maybe I was just convincing myself.

I know what you’re thinking. Beth, he’s a fuckboy, why are you falling for this shit?

I said it earlier, I like to fix people. I think I can fix people. Ok, I know I can’t fix it all, but I get some sort of high from being the positive part of someone’s life. It’s selfish, really. It’s like I think I’m less fucked up then them, so being around them makes me feel better.

Yeah, I know it’s fucked up.

I tell my mom and sister about him, then my friends.

I could’ve predicted the next series of events if I really dug deep…I just didn’t know it would be so soon.

7-8 vodka sodas deep, I am drunk. I want my boyfriend to meet up with me, he’s being non-responsive and sketchy. I knew in my gut something was going on. In a sad, drunken slur I give him an ultimatum.

What is going on? Why are you always so sketchy? If you don’t meet up with me I’m never going to see you again!!!!

His ex picks up his phone. She knows about me and sounds sweet (I know this is weird). I’m silent. He’ll never give you what you need, Beth. I learned this very early with him. You’re not special. 

Him and I meet outside in a public place. My make up is fucked up from the tears and my hair is a hot mess from the humidity. I want to change my shoes because I have been in heels for 6 hours. We sit down and start to talk.

Suddenly, his ex turns the corner. She sits down on the ground in between us as I stay silent. This situation is sobering me up REAL quick as I’m waiting for a camera to come out from the bushes with a producer screaming YOU’VE BEEN PUNKED!

They start to engage in a rather loud argument about their fucked up shit they have going on. I chime in. Apparently he had just asked her to be his girlfriend moments ago but is now denying it. He also claims we have been dating for a day (wrong, it had been approximately a week…to get technical). I call him out. I quickly find out he cheated on me. Twice. He’s confused. As am I.

The cigarette smoke blows from her mouth.

I told her I wanted to be with you, Beth. She acknowledges this. We’re on the same page for a very, very brief moment.

There were so many words happening at once. She claims to be on my side and stands up, for me. I don’t really know her and not totally understanding her intentions, but I also decide I’m too drunk for this shit. I stay silent. He asks her to let us talk, she stays.

I should have just gone home, but I wanted to talk to him, only him. I’m still attached. He gets up in anger, claims he’s going to pick up some other chick and leaves. I watch him go and sit in a whimpering, pathetic cry.

I call out for him (Jesus, this is more of a reality show than I thought), and she’s still there. I politely ask her to leave. She goes. I meet him down the road a bit of the ways. The drama continues. We talk about us briefly, but he realizes that she took all of his shit in her car with her to Maryland or somewhere…like, everything he needs for work the next day. I laugh internally and then let out a snort. I can’t help it.

He’s freaking out, I’m a drunk, well now a pretty sober, mess and so much shit just happened that I’m unsure what to do next. I should go home, I really should. But I also know that I need comfort. And I know for SURE my drunk ass does not have the will power to just go home in this state. For Christ’s sake, I had just exited a reality show stint.

We lie in bed and he tells me he is falling in love with me..I hesitate. He takes a swig of  whisky and brushes the ash from his cigarette off the sheets onto the floor. It’s 4am. I tell him I’m no longer his girlfriend. We have sex. It’s meaningless. He sleeps past his alarm the next morning. Somehow, this is my fault.

I wish this was the end, I really do.

I leave his spot the next morning.

Your ex just walked into my spot. We’re about to take a shot together. 

I freeze in the middle of the street. My phone lit up. Ok, ok, cameramen, where the HELL are you?

What? I respond.

He knows about our past. I expect him to be cordial and not fight my battles, but I am at a loss for words.

I expect him to act the way that any good person would, but then again I am understanding that he’s well, kind of a shitty person. Ok, I knew this all along…but we already went over this. I call him.

Why are you freaking out? Want me to fucking kick him in the balls? Like what the fuck Beth?  I’ll call you back. 

I’m at home. Writing this makes me realize how many times this man brought me to tears…fuck, man. The next text brings me to a full blown anxiety attack.

It’s a picture of him and my ex that he sent. To my phone. Followed by a *heart faced emoji*

Note: we’re talking about the same dude who told me he was falling in love with me like 12 hours before.

I slam my laptop I sit in the corner of my couch infested with dog hair that I had failed to vacuum this morning while covering my face. Hyperventilating. I grab my journal and start to write. It’s not working. I rip the journal page out and throw it on to my coffee table. My dog sits and watches this unfold and puts his head on my lap.

I find comfort in my friends.

He then sends me a string of texts attacking my character as laid out my ex boyfriend (a source worse than Wikipedia). I want to disengage. I want to block his number and not participate. I feel the need to protect my reputation to people who never actually mattered in the first place.

I’m protecting my reputation to two men who still, to this day, have yet to admit their faults in the situation. I’m protecting my reputation to two men to have such a false and narrow view of the world that they probably never will.

I’m protecting my reputation to essentially, two narcissists , two people who will never apologize, because to the world, they are superior. <–click for a link to a great article and perspective on narcissism.

Are you still hanging in there? We’re almost there.

Mmmmmmmk here’s where I get REAL pathetic. Yeah, I still talked to him after all this. He knew all the right things to say. I was still upset and had a glimmer of hope that I could open his eyes that I could be good for him…oh, Beth. You’re so cute.

About a week later he brings up the reality-show pilot — Love Trifecta, I’m calling it. I’m at fault for the whole thing apparently. Jokes on me! Apparently there WERE people filming, I am now “the drunk chick screaming at *** in front of the ***.” I’m scolded for ruining his “brand.” I know this is not true. I snort out in laughter, because although I was drunk, this was simply another deflection tactic. Everything’s my fault, remember?

A) He’s not that important and this ain’t Hollywood. B) I wasn’t causing the scene. C) No mention of the whole cheating thing though!! Did they catch that on video!?!!?

Ok, ok, I’m not going to be petty, this was just one of the many things that has now turned into an “eye-roll” incident for me. Note: this was only brought up after the fact I suggest we talk about the fact that he cheated on me.

I call him out for being an ass. He says all the right things. I’m brought back in.

We feel so strong together. 

What I’ve wanted has never changed. I want you. Just you. 

Passing your building right now. Miss you!!! 😦 

Ya know, generic shit that I continue to call him out for in a string of frustrating texts.

So, shit ended.

You guys are still here? Damn.

***

Per usual, I never know how people are going to react to these kinds of posts. If you’re an avid reader, you know not this is and will never be a “bash your ex” blog and I hate that I still give this disclaimer after all this time, it just feels necessary.

Writing helps me work through things, and you guys seem to like it. Life in the dating world as single-something is entertaining, and unfortunately, I think there are more people than you think who have been through similar shit.

As for me, I’m ok. Pretty great actually. It’s amazing what cutting toxic people out can do for ya! Although I’m not proud that I diverted back to old “habits,” if you will, I was able to catch on and detach myself much quicker than before. If there’s a silver lining to any of this, is that this relationship ONLY lasted for about a month (well, officially a week), as opposed to on and off for a year.

While things still lingered on a bit through text after it “ended” I was still doing my own thing. I knew how to exist without him. Ok, yeah, the entirety of “us” was about 90 days — but an intense 90 days!

That right there is important. Whether or not you have a significant other, ya gotta be your own person — have your own dreams, alone time, opinions, etc. etc. Yeah, its cliché, but you know how a cliché becomes a cliché?

I acknowledge that there are still things I need to fix about myself. I write all the time about self love and confidence, but here I am identifying all the red flags from the second date and still going for it. I know it’s problematic and it scares me too. It’s not a habit I want to fall into simply because I don’t like the type of person I become when I’m with toxic people. I don’t want to be the person who lets men get in the way of my own shit,  but I recognize that I can be that person.

With this guy, I knew he wasn’t The One. He had “I have a lot problems I don’t want to deal with so I’m going make self-destructive decisions instead” written all over him. It mad me ask myself, “What things about myself do I not want to deal with? Is my ‘self destructive behavior’ men like this?” Possibly.

 

***

He was saying all this shit to have sex with youYou’re dumb.

Mmmmm. Maybe. But I did take him home on night one, and I think he knew he didn’t really have to try that hard. I even offered casual sex! To which he was “saddened and offended by.” Anyways, I could spend forever searching for these answers that I’m not even sure exist.

It was only 6 weeks, you crazy.

Maybe. But my story remains the same. I was crazy for him because he was crazy for me too..or so I thought. I’ll never know what was genuine and what was total bullshit. He claims it was all “real” but I think reality is still a fragmented construct he has created in his own head.

I find myself asking “Why?” a lot. I know the problem starts with me. I know that I need to identify exactly what in my life triggers me to fall weak to this manipulative behavior. While the sex was great and we had glimmers of happy moments together, that was sort of it. I don’t like drinking whiskey out of the bottle at 4am. I don’t like talking about all of his big career moments without one mention of mine. I don’t like waiting around, wondering when his text will come…if it ever does. Simply put, I don’t like the person he is.

I was more sad about the fact that I had fallen victim to yet another person like this rather than losing him. There are plenty of “hims” out there. I know this. In the same way that I wasn’t special to him, he wasn’t all that special to me.

I haven’t lost faith. If anything, it gives me more stories to tell you guys.

So, I’m just moving along. Swiping left and right (mostly left), having safe (and consensual!!!) sex with cute dudes, finally sorta kinda developing abs? Idk, life hasn’t been so bad to me.

Like I said, you’d be so lucky to date me. 

Just ask my mom!

I have a chewed piece of gum on my desk.

The past few months I’ve received a lot of emails, Insta DMs and in-person Qs about my blog. I’ve sorta ~blogged about it~ before, but that was, like, almost a year ago. So, here’s a refresher.

Some of the Qs I’ve been asked are as follows:

  • Why and when did you start it?
  • How can I start a blog? I have so many things I want to write about but I’m nervous to publish them.
  • Where does your inspiration come from?
  • Are you worried about employers reading your blog?
  • LOL remember that time we briefly dated — you should blog about it. 
  • How did you get your following? What are some SEO techniques?

And here’s my favorite one that I get all of the time.

  • Do your parents read your blog? 

I’m going to attempt to answer these questions, but I’m sorta against a typical Q&A format because tbh, it’s not ~on brand~ with the rest of my stuff. So, per usssuual, I’m going to write about this how I write my all of my blog posts: a personal essay about yours truly.

If you’re here for SEO tips, this isn’t the place for you. Sry.

Hold tight, you’re about to see EXCLUSIVE SNEAK PEAK BEHIND THE SCENES OF THIS PREMIUM BLOG ABOUT IT CONTENT!!!

Let’s start off with what my desk usually looks like.

IMG_8312.JPG.jpeg You’ll see the WordPress screen, a cup of coffee (well, 3rd cup of coffee), water, a chewed piece of gum, a pen, and a To-Do list. This is what my “desk” usually looks like (minus the chewed gum — I have manners).

I’m at my dad’s house, but the setting where I choose to write always changes. Coffee shops, my couch, the bathroom at a bar five vodka sodas deep. It depends.

What you can’t see (or hear, I guess), is the SSOTWTIHLTORFTPFD (Spotify song of the week that I have listened to on repeat for the past five days). Can anyone relate? It’s Sinking by Jeremy Zucker, in case you were wondering.

I have gotten in the habit of taking my make up off religiously every single night (only took me 24 years), except I haven’t quite mastered the art of getting ALL of my eye liner off. Here’s me in real time — my typical ~blogging look~.

IMG_8325
NO FILTER Y’ALL

Pro tip: The most successful bloggers are always guzzling coffee. This blog isn’t sponsored by Keurig, but tbh, it should be.

So now that you’ve gotten a quick peak into what my life looks like when I blog. Now to the how and why.

I don’t have any real “pro tips” for you about blogging. Truly, I don’t. There are thousands of blog posts out there that tell you about the keys to creating a a high-traffic blog and for those blogs, that’s they’re goal. More traffic.

When I write, I don’t really write for traffic. Yeah, my topics are relatable and when WordPress sends a “You’re stats are booming!” notification, I’m low-key stoked, but you’ll also notice the titles of my blog are never something like, “10 Things Why Everybody Should Drink At Least 4 Cups of Coffee A Day. I’ve Done It And You Should Too.” Lol, #trustory, but you know what I mean.

Basically, I don’t write click-bait.

There is nothing wrong with click-bait. I’m not currently sitting on a blogger high horse scoffing at other bloggers who produce this type of content. I mean, clearly.  There’s currently a chewed piece of gum in my peripheral, who am I to judge?

I’m just saying, that’s not my writing, or I guess “blog” style. So like I said, if you clicked this article looking for tips on SEO or how to go viral, this isn’t the place for you.

Words are a beautiful thing and through this blog, I’m able to experiment with them in a way that is both therapeutic to me and my readers. As much as I write for you, I write for me. It keeps me sane.

I write in an emotional, provocative, stream of consciousness kind of way — as you have probably picked up on. I don’t want to get all sappy and say I ~speak from the heart~ because sometimes I don’t. I let my fingers do the talking — and sometimes it comes out shit. Hence why I have over 450 drafts.

I don’t go into blogs planning what I’m going to write. I don’t believe that inspiration can be pre-determined. For me, it just happens. I experience severe writer’s block like the rest of us and then find myself staring at cappuccino suddenly immersed in an infinite amount of topics and the words flow from my brain to my fingers effortlessly.

The most successful (and profitable) blogs usually have editorial calendars and scheduled posts. They are consistent, reliable and write in a way is “shareable.” I mean, that’s the key to going viral, right?

Not always.

I didn’t build my audience from developing an editorial calendar or sticking to a certain schedule. I built it by sticking to my style — sticking to the style that I know best. My personal “brand” if you will. People come here knowing what to expect – and usually they like it. 

In a way, this website is less of a blog and more of collection of short stories. It wasn’t always that way, though.

Let’s dive into the beginning.

I started this blog when I was a mere single 20-something. Titled Another Chapter in the Book, I didn’t really know what I was doing, and the stuff I wrote about is honestly laughable. Check this out. My very first blog post EVER is titled “Trying to Never Figure Out Life” published April 5, 2013. Holy wow.

I tweet way too much, use Facebook for strictly photo sharing and creeping, and Instagram pointless shit while crossing my fingers that the “likes” will get in the double digits. My iPhone battery sucks, and I also hate myself for complaining about first world problems on a daily basis. I like to take chances, make spontaneous decisions, and am always reaching for something more.

I mean, still sorta true except Twitter is dying and if I ever post a picture that doesn’t get into the double digits I’m straight up deleting my Insta out of pure embarrassment. Kidding but not really. 

Then there was this point titled, “Sunshine, you ROCK.” Ugh, Beth.

Shout out to Mother Nature for rocking my socks this week. ‘Tis the season for sundresses, Sperry’s, and sunglasses. I mean, this doesn’t compare to last year, when it was 75 degrees in the middle of March, but hey, take what you can get.

Am I real?????? Can’t be. Also like, #tbt to when I would wear Sperry’s.

Anyways, like I said before, in the early stages, this blog was purely snippets of my every day thoughts. A kewl and new way to write that wasn’t in the depths of a journal page. It didn’t take much effort and I never really put much thought into what I wrote.

Oh, how times have changed. 

So, how did I get here? Couldn’t tell ya. It wasn’t a revelation I had one morning where I was like haaaayyy I’m gunna tell y’all about all of my personal shit. It was like I developed a strange yet invigorating & intoxicating relationship with this thing and then got more comfortable with the types of things I shared.

This “thing” being my blog.

Behind my marble-skinned MacBook and black plastic keyboard I find peace. It gives me a high I can’t really explain. Things that don’t make sense suddenly can turn into a story that I didn’t even know was there.

For all of you that have asked, how do I start?

Watch a 2 minutes WordPress tutorial on YouTube and then write your first blog post. That’s it. 

Not everything you write has to be novel-worthy. It doesn’t have to change the world. It just has to be you. Like any art form, writing takes practice. What you learn through practicing is two-fold. In one instance, you learn more about how to formulate a more compelling sentence, but in the other, you learn how be more comfortable with your mistakes.

It’s like sitting in front of an easel with nothing but a blank canvas, a paintbrush and a plethora of the finest paint and you’re like LOL, I can hardly draw a stick figure thooo???? You don’t wanna fuck up the canvas so you approach it with caution, afraid of messing up the entire thing with one stroke. The more blank canvasses you fuck up, the more comfortable you get with fucking up and then you realize that your new fuck ups aren’t as bad as your old fuck ups. Make sense?

Then suddenly, you wake up and your art is plastered all over the internet! It’s crazy!

All I’m saying is just write. Write for yourself. Develop your own style. The rest will come. Don’t be too concerned with your audience at first, because again you’re writing for yourself, remember?

I know for a fact that there are some people (hopefully not toooo many) who read what I post and roll their eyes and prob screenshot it and send it to their group chat and laugh.

Or, maybe not at all because I’m not that important lolz. 

You guys also ask a lot about my “subjects.” If you don’t know what this means, basically my “subjects” is my ~long list of ex-lovers who hopefully don’t call me insane~.

I actually had one person ask me, “Do you date people so you can blog about them?”

LOL. No. Good Q though.

Like I said, I don’t go into things being like OOMMGGG THIS IS GUNNA BE A GR8 STORY. It just so happens that relationships make really good blog posts. So, then I write about it and you read them. Simple as that. Honestly, I hope one day that I find myself in a relationship that is too boring to write about because it’s so perfect.

But also not really because that’s no fun either. 

I don’t usually ask people if I can write about them because then they ask questions and I don’t want them to ask questions because then it makes me nervous to write about and then story gets all censored and un-fun and I accidentally talk in a bunch of run-on sentences. Know what I mean? I never share revealing details about them, but besides a couple of guys, people actually like being the subject of my blog. Dead serious!

My last ex was angry about the blog post about him. Like, extremely angry. Pretty sure he consulted a lawyer about it too. I mean, there was not really a case there because the truth is always your biggest defense when it comes to writing but trust me, I’ve done my legal research. You should too.

Like I’ve said in the past, I don’t write with the intent to defame or publicly shame anybody — nobody should. I write stories. My stories. My truth. Are there other characters involved? Of course. That’s life, man.

At first I was so timid, so afraid of what people would think. Like, omg what if people think I’m a total psycho?! 

I eventually just stopped caring. I learned to stop apologizing for what I wrote and learned that if my stories are something that turn certain people away, those people were never meant to be in my life in the first place.

Pro tip: If you want to write about dating/exes, gr8. It’s fun. But don’t make it about the other person. Don’t write for them, write for you. Speak on behalf of your feelings and your experiences. The other parties are just characters in your story. You don’t want to create a “bash your ex blog.” Nobody wins and it usually isn’t as compelling of a read as you want it to be. 

I find inspiration in every day occurrences of my life; dude-induced or not. It doesn’t take a monumental experience for my brain to extrapolate a story. I can literally stare at a blank wall and turn it into a string of sentences on a page. Some call it talent, I call it overthinking — something I’m quite good at.

Does my family read my blog? Yes. Believe it or not, my blog posts are actually on my dad’s fridge. My mom’s always the first to compliment them and this Christmas, my cousin’s wife bought me a unicorn mug because of my last blog post. Check the featured image.

So, yeah, they read it — and they support it!

For a while I tried to hide it from future employers, but at this point I consider it an accomplishment. Yeah, maybe the stuff I write about isn’t super profesh but, it’s me.

And I like me.

My posts don’t follow the rules of Strunk and White’s Elements of Style. In fact, I’m quite sure that if either one of them awoke from the dead and read one blog post, they would re-pass away due to grammar deficiencies. Pretty sure “lolz” and “fuckboy” aren’t in the Webster Dictionary.

They’re not meant to be grammatically perfect nor attract the most traffic. I used to care more about that stuff but then I realized if I wrote in that way, I’d lose the edge that have been developing since the early days of blogging nearly six years ago.

Pro tip: Develop your edge.

What’s an edge? Honestly, I don’t really know. My professor told me that my writing had an “edge” so I’m holding onto that compliment in the hopes that it some day makes more sense to me.

Not everybody is going to love what you write. Not everybody is going to love the character you create out of them. Some people turn into a whole chapter while some only make it out with a line or two. The beauty of personal writing is that you have complete control over what gets put on the page.

If you want to start a blog, then start a blog. Who’s stopping you?

Don’t write for others, write for yourself. You’d be surprised how many stories you can create out of a seemingly monotonous life. When you master that, your life actually starts to feel much more interesting.