You guys, over the many years I’ve been writing Priss & Vinegar I’ve noticed something kinda funny: some of you are sheepish about telling me you read the blog. Maybe it’s because you think my writing is crap and you’re embarrassed for me (reasonable), but I get the impression that some of you feel like you’ve surreptitiously stolen the key to my Lisa Frank diary.
And it’s true: what I write about is often wildly personal, like the births of my children and that one time I kind of hated my husband for a little while. But I wouldn’t send these stories out into the universe if I wasn’t 100% comfortable sharing them. Even more than that, I WANT you to read them. The single greatest part of writing Priss & Vinegar is the incredible conversation I get to have with all of you. Your comments challenge and inspire me every day. You have no idea how much.
It gets weird for me, too, sometimes. When we haven’t hung out in a while and you ask what I’ve been up to, odds are you already know I went camping last month and that Brooks is currently obsessed with his Iron Man costume. So then I’m awkwardly repeating myself without actually knowing whether I’m repeating myself, and you’re forced to hear a story you (maybe) already know. Go ahead and stop me, PLEASE. I don’t want to be boring and, let’s be real, if our kids are there we only have about 45 seconds to catch up before someone falls down/demands snacks/pees pants.
Am I totally off about this? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve misinterpreted social cues (awkward circa ALWAYS) but I’d love your thoughts on the subject. Or really, your thoughts on anything relating to Priss & Vinegar. Your feedback is utterly invaluable as the blog continues to evolve. Tell me what you’ve hated, what you’ve really connected with, what you wish I’d stop writing about, already.
Thank you, as always, for reading. I’m humbled and honored to be a small part of your day.