Countless blog posts and videos have been telling me not to call what we do « content ». Devastatia wrote an almost-apology for talking about content when she’s talking about other people’s blogs. I understand why some would think they deserve better than that term − but I firmly believe that what I do is, in fact, content.
I write like a blogger, not like a writer. It used to hurt me to say that. I have opinions and feelings that aren’t art. I just write how I feel, and it’s content. Content is versatile, content gives me the freedom to do anything I want in any format I want. I streamed video games at one point. I had a podcast − I’m launching a new one, for work this time, soon enough. I write about my life and I talk about books I liked. I even write the occasional song, which my piano skills are too rusty to turn into actual music, unfortunately. It’s content!
I recently went to a writing workshop and on an exercise, our instructors asked us to underline every emotion we had infused into our writing.
I didn’t underline anything.
That’s when I realized I had been writing to convince others that I was right, not to enjoy my own writing. And yet, that’s what I enjoy doing. Why would I stop doing the content I like to do art? Why would writing be more valuable than the content I so lovingly create, based on today’s whims?
I have readers and I have an audience for my content. I appreciate everyone who looks at what I create and engages with it. It doesn’t make it anything else than content. It’s not disrespectful to me. It sure as hell isn’t disrespectful to you.
I make content.
And I’m happy enough with that.
👍
Azaliz