Introduce Yourself (Example Post)

This is an example post, originally published as part of Blogging University. Enroll in one of our ten programs, and start your blog right.

You’re going to publish a post today. Don’t worry about how your blog looks. Don’t worry if you haven’t given it a name yet, or you’re feeling overwhelmed. Just click the “New Post” button, and tell us why you’re here.

Why do this?

  • Because it gives new readers context. What are you about? Why should they read your blog?
  • Because it will help you focus your own ideas about your blog and what you’d like to do with it.

The post can be short or long, a personal intro to your life or a bloggy mission statement, a manifesto for the future or a simple outline of your the types of things you hope to publish.

To help you get started, here are a few questions:

  • Why are you blogging publicly, rather than keeping a personal journal?
  • What topics do you think you’ll write about?
  • Who would you love to connect with via your blog?
  • If you blog successfully throughout the next year, what would you hope to have accomplished?

You’re not locked into any of this; one of the wonderful things about blogs is how they constantly evolve as we learn, grow, and interact with one another — but it’s good to know where and why you started, and articulating your goals may just give you a few other post ideas.

Can’t think how to get started? Just write the first thing that pops into your head. Anne Lamott, author of a book on writing we love, says that you need to give yourself permission to write a “crappy first draft”. Anne makes a great point — just start writing, and worry about editing it later.

When you’re ready to publish, give your post three to five tags that describe your blog’s focus — writing, photography, fiction, parenting, food, cars, movies, sports, whatever. These tags will help others who care about your topics find you in the Reader. Make sure one of the tags is “zerotohero,” so other new bloggers can find you, too.

Published by Kimmy

I was a mum without a husband, who had a daughter with a nanny. I was friends with a game ranger who rode a motorbike. My neighbour’s house joined onto mine so that we could pop in and out. I smoked all the time; I had short sticks stacked in each room, available whenever I needed to puff. I had a bar in my bathroom. My house was designed around Machona’s hut which was my walk-in wardrobe. I drove a Landover. We played this as often as we could at the compound where my granny’s cook and his wife lived. We drew each room in the white sand which had been routinely swept by Violet, using her broom made from gathered twigs. Even though I was aware of terrorists peering at me through the tall grass when I waited outside the army base for the school bus or checked for them under my bed before I went to sleep at night or that my father was mostly away fighting, I mostly didn’t care about the bush war in Rhodesia. My life was absorbed with my cousins and the visits to my grandparent’s farm. We had to move to South Africa when I was a teenager and my life was never to be the same. I yearned for the farm. We visited home once a year. In real life I did get married - I got told you had to if you were having children. After becoming a single mum, I returned to Zimbabwe with my daughter. To those closest to me, the grownup part of my life story appears full of blunders, and there is little hope for me of a life once dreamed. Yet I have feathers in my cap too. I’ve set off the alarm in the Louvre; dated a prince in Holland; stayed with Margaret Thatcher’s former foreign secretary; accommodated Nelson Mandela’s fellow prison comrade; received Nelson’s autograph; lived for two months with my daughter in a tent; flown in the president of Bophuthatswana’s jet; been an usher for a year in an all black church; worked in an orphanage in Mozambique for three months. My feathers are perhaps just from a rare bird that no-one recognizes. The life I really desire is one of freedom. I long for my days to be soaked in creativity and adventure, full of bubbling hope, waiting in expectation. Yet I remain trapped in my thoughts that my desire for life to the limit, is not for this life at all. I think I’ve been tricked. I admire people who weren’t willing to give up on their desires. With courage they were able to step out, and with determination, change things. They conquered their fears of tomorrow. How does this happen? How did Erin Brockovich do it? How does anyone do it? This has been my search for years. I think that the switch is inside all of us, it just needs to be released, but for that to happen – you have to trust it first and then let go. I still yearn for those feelings I had as a child. I get them sometimes when I drive passed African villages. I imagine they are content the way I was playing around Machona’s hut. But then they aren’t part of a game either, they too live in the real world.

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