No, I am not yet a grandma. Not officially anyway.
But you might as well call me one now since my age is eons off the blog generation. Also, sometime soon—following the example of my younger grannie friends—I should be one. My second of three sons has promised he would catapult me to that distinction.
So why am I blogging? Have I gone nuts?
I am not young, I am not a techie, I loathe (maybe that word is a bit strong; let me change it to "dislike") what I read in some young people's blogs, I am very private (add very ho-hum), and I am already a published author.
Well, I listen to the young. Though I sometimes feel their perspective can be appalling (compared to those in ancient time when the women were ladies and the men, gentlemen), they often make sense.
My eldest and youngest sons pushed me into blogging.
"Blog is a web page." (Which was what I planned on having.)
"You can write all you want." (Which I do anyway.)
"You can comment on young people's blogs. (Which I like doing, verbally.)
"You can openly advocate values." (Which I concentrate on in my children's books.)
"You can publish on-line your unpublished books." (Which I dream of night and day.)
"You can get immediate feedback on the manuscripts you're iffy about." (Which I saddle them with.)
"You will have more readers of your books because blogs are international." (Which I thought incredible since I live in a republic where people consider reading as non-essential.)
"All that for—FREE."
The last argument did it. A true-blue Ilocana, I am a sucker for sales promotions.
Ta-da, a grandma blogger!
|(First grandson's first photo)|
At best, my husband will, out of love professed on wedding day.
At worst, eldest and youngest son will, if only to prove that their idea of a blog will work even for grandmas.