Just for the record, the title of this blog wasn't actually said to me, it's just been running through my head this week. I watched the movie Julie and Julia about a woman who cooked her way through Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking and wrote a blog about it. The woman, Julie Powell, had aspirations to become a writer and her blog eventually became a book, and of course, a movie. I'm also a reader of a couple of blogs, like author Shannon Hale's and (my friend from graduate school) Melanie's that are sometimes so clever or touchingly written that it does reach the level of literature.
While I liked the movie for the most part, it made two things very clear to me. 1. I will never blog like Julie Powell (and not just because I've heard she used some nasty language in hers) 2. I will never cook like Julia Child. I'm generally happy enough just to know this blog is read by my mom and my grandmother and that my cooking is good enough to keep my husband and I chubby and happy.
Still, I've found myself wondering why it is that I'm more comfortable writing about fantastical people and places than my own life? Maybe it's because I don't think my life is that adventurous and exciting, which is kind of a good thing actually. I don't know. I don't have any grand cosmic answers to this, it's just been on my mind this week.
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