Those of you who have been reading my blog for a while know that I am beyond excited to go to my first BlogHer conference.  This year it is taking place in New York City, so can I get a WOOT WOOT?  Because you guys, it is three days away!!!

I have been all a flutter planning my itinerary, picking out the sessions I want to attend, organizing my party confirmations, emailing the new friends I can’t wait to meet (shout outs to Danielle, Becca, and Erin!), staring at my new business cards, and of course making my list.  I am after all, all about LISTS. 

Emails have been pouring in from businesses and PR firms who are representing other businesses.  They will all be setting up shop at the Expo for the big event and want me to stop on by.  I have received invitations to a number of separate non-BlogHer sponsored festivities, and even an invite from Gold’s Gym offering free use of their facilities to BlogHer attendees. 

This is my first conference anywhere and I am not naïve to think that this sort of thing doesn’t happen all of the time, but what I am learning about the process more than ever is this:  Corporate America hath not underestimated the power of social media, and that of the everyday blogger…and how to use it and them.  They want to sell themselves to us, so that we can sell them to you.  It makes absolute sense, this symbiotic relationship, and I buy into it in theory.  But at the risk getting put on a black list, I have the hardest time reconciling this process within myself, especially when it comes to my blog. 

I am not a saleswoman.  Never have been; never want to be.  I cannot explain any reason for the birth and continuation of this blog other than I simply and complexly feel like it is something that I need.  I need to write, love to be heard, want to relate, and yearn for this gift (if it is one) to become something more than it is.

There is so much talk about “brand”.  What is my brand? I have none.  How much money do I earn from this blog?  In a couple of months I might be able to buy myself a congratulatory cappuccino. 

You see that promotions tab on the top right?  It’s empty.  And it is not because PR isn’t coming in.  Every now and then when I think I might dive in, I hold back.  It is not because I feel like I am selling myself out; it is because I do not like selling.  And in all truth that is not why I want you to be here. 

But I also realize that to get some of “you” here, it is the very thing that I need to do.  I want one without the other, and I do not know how to make it so.  I understand that even authors need to do a lot of the selling of themselves these days, for they are their own greatest advocates.  I know that there is no shame in embracing this concept; I just don’t want to lose myself in it.

So these are the things that have been buzzing about my cranium as I have been prepping and planning and packing.  There are several sessions I could attend geared toward how to market your brand and find success with a professional blog.  While those are going on, I hope to be in the writing labs. “How to Use Your Blogging to Make You a Better Writer” and “Writing Inspiration: Stoke Your Creativity” are on the top of my list.

I am not saying that I will never get the promotions tab hopping, and I am not saying that someday I won’t find a way to make a business blog.  But for now I am going to keep on dreaming that there is something special waiting to burst forth from this brain, if only I just keep writing from me, for me. 

This conference, it has a life of its own and is grander in scale than I could have ever imagined.  Even with all of the commercialism (and yes in all of my hypocrisy I am as enticed by the swag as the next person), I am so very eager to be a part of it.  I know I am going to meet some amazing people, some who are dreaming dreams just like mine.  I am ready to go with my business cards in hand, a smile on my face, and all of the excitement and courage I can muster to allow myself one of the most remarkable experiences ever. 

So if you’re looking for me this weekend, you can find me at BlogHer ’10.  Stay tuned to Facebook and Twitter! I will try to update you on all of the fun and the madness as best I can.

When I was in my early twenties I used to drive through a neighborhood where one of the streets had a speed limit of a whopping 5 MPH.  I was just learning to drive a stick back then and frankly coasting along in the lower gears at such a low speed tended to send me on a one way trip to Stallville.  I confess I tended to speed on that street, riding in second gear a little more comfortably at five miles per hour over the speed limit.  One day as I was passing through on a fine summer day there was a woman walking down the street who proceeded to scream at me that I should slow the #*%@ down.  I marveled at this woman. My God. I was driving 10 MPH.  Certainly my actions did not warrant that level of frustration.

In later years my path to work took me down a lovely side road that had a 30 MPH speed limit.  It was a rather windy road and I was more than happy to adhere to the traffic laws.  There was a family that lived on that street with children, and I would often see them standing in their driveway awaiting their school bus.  These parents were apparently unhappy with their town’s designated speed assignment for their street, because they would regularly stand at the edge of their driveway shouting at people, including myself, to slow down.  I would become frustrated by these people, especially when they put a “Slow Children” sign in the road, making it nearly impossible for two cars traveling in opposite directions to pass each other in front of their home. 

“What is wrong with these people”, I would say to myself.  That road is so narrow it is almost impossible to speed over the limit in the first place.  The family eventually moved.  I discarded them as crazy suburbanites and went along at my happy little 30 MPH way. 

Then I became a parent whose children just LOVE to send their balls flying into the direction of our street despite my threats of impending doom.  I live in a quiet neighborhood teaming with young families.  The speed limit on our road is a respectable 20 MPH.  I’ve been noticing a trend this summer; we’ve got a number of lead foots passing through as of late. 

Now I do not have my own pocket friendly radar detector on hand, but I can gage their speed well enough, and there are quite a few offenders who pass through at more than double the speed limit.  I stare at them and scowl as they zip past. Depending on how close we are to the road at the time my husband and I might even scream at them with a few choice words, akin to the encounter I had in my early twenties. 

I’m quite close to calling the police and letting them know that if they are looking to fill their quota I have nice and shady spot for them to sit in wait, just beyond the turn where my home is situated and my children play.  There are a number of repeat offenders so their time would certainly not be wasted. 

I am probably all talk and likely wont call, but hey you…pedal to the metal chick with the Honda…

I Am Watching You