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It’s that time of year again. Awards season in the land of blogging.
And I’m not quite sure how I feel about it this year.
The last couple of years I’ve done the vote for me posts, I’ve tweeted and Facebooked the links. I’ve highlighted my favourite blogs and encouraged others to vote.
I’ve been thrilled to be nominated.
I’ve enjoyed watching blogging friends do well.
And, I’ve felt a little like I was back at school, hoping to be one of the popular kids, but knowing deep down that I’m simply lucky to be one of the not-unpopular ones.
It’s a bit of a roller coaster, and I’m not sure it brings out the best in me.
Intellectually, I know that being nominated is a wonderful thing and as long as I enjoy my blog, that’s all that matters. Emotionally, it amplifies every feeling of insecurity, magnifies every moment of doubt.
So, what do I do this year?
I’ve seen comments calling blogging awards a popularity contest, that us ‘regular’ bloggers will never win.
I’ve seen comments defending the awards as healthy competition and an opportunity to give out some well deserved blog love.
(Our non-blogging readers must wonder what’s going on!)
I fall largely into the latter camp, but I will admit to feelings of inadequacy on the bad days.
I’ve been very touched to be mentioned in a couple of shortlist posts over the last few days, and I’m developing my own shortlist in advance of sitting down and tackling the voting forms. I may blog my lists later in the week: sharing my favourites seems more positive than a bout of self-doubting introspection.
But, I don’t think I can bring myself to actively seek votes. Not this time. Somehow, it is less disappointing to not get beyond the nominations stage when I haven’t tried to.
All this navel gazing has brought my reluctance to put myself/my writing out there sharply into focus. I know that my blog audience will generally be kind and encouraging and supportive. But, the thought of say, submitting a poem for publication elsewhere?
No thank you.
I was thrilled to see one of the What I’m Writing group have a poem accepted this week, after several rejections, just as she was thinking about giving up. She persevered, believed in her writing and it paid off.
I thought, how brave!
How wonderful to have such courage and conviction. To feel such a sense of purpose.
I can’t quite decide if the fear that stops me from doing the same is sensible self-preservation or something else.
And I wonder if my own sense of purpose is far too tied up in what others think of me, and not enough in what I think of myself.
Or vice versa.
So, while I can’t quite bring myself to ask my readers for votes this year, I can’t quite bring myself to opt out completely either!
And so the navel gazing continues.
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