This was my dinner tonight. Leftovers from a weekend of recipe testing – cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, crispy catfish, a roll and a small chunk of brie, with a Diet Coke and a remote (of course, the remote wasn’t for eating — it was just me for dinner tonight with Shawn working and Will turning in early). I eat on luncheon sized plates so that I don’t overeat (though this plate was a bit overstuffed with all the veggies).
This was one of those meals that took minutes (since it was all precooked) and was really satisfying. Love that. And after eating, I quickly scanned my favorite blogs. It’s always interesting to see what others are writing about (and eating).
But there was one post that really stood out for me. Shauna’s post on Gluten Free Girl today really struck a chord. She wrote about how she doesn’t know why she writes her blog, but it’s a great joy in her life — so long as it’s for her, on her terms. I left a comment over there saying why I read it. In a nutshell: I am not gluten-free. I don’t have celiac disease. And though she has worthwhile and interesting recipes, I don’t look for them. I read her blog because her writing is inspiring. She has a magical way with words that I look forward to losing myself in, if only for a few moments a day.
My husband frequently asks me why I write this blog. He isn’t in a creative field, nor is he a writer. Each time he asks, I answer with “because I do.” I know it’s hard for him to understand why I would do something that he sees as work without pay or certain recognition. But writing is more than my career. Sure, I have been a journalist for five years and a writer for much longer. And sure, that is what pays my portion of the bills. For me, writing is not only my career, it’s who I am.
I am a writer.
Some people search for their careers, others are called to them. I was called to be a writer. One of my oldest friends and I were talking about careers the other day. He chose to go into engineering and said of his choice that it’s something he understands. For me, writing–words on the page–are what I understand.
But it’s more than that. I am a writer because I love writing. It brings me joy. It makes me complete.
Earlier this year, I pledged to give more of myself here and I think I have been doing that. Or at least I hope I have been. And that is what I am trying to do with my cookbook. I am trying to give more of myself in it. Like this blog, I hope I am succeeding.
Now, time to be disciplined and get to the book . . .