Finding My Niche

Over the weekend, I attended a writers’ conference. One of the seminars centered upon building a brand and finding your niche. It was a great presentation but it left me feeling a little lost.

The point to finding your niche is to become an expert at a topic you are passionate about, writing about it and marketing your work. There has to be money in the topic. Somewhere, someone has to be buying and selling something surrounding the subject. It has to appeal to businesses or trade publications so that you can sell your work.

This left me questioning what my niche is, exactly. Once upon a time, it may have been finance or credit. And it could still be, possibly. My hobbies include concert going, scrap booking and just about anything that the marketing types would call “experiencing,” such as hot air balloon rides or visiting new restaurants and bars.

Lately, however, my life has centered on being a mom and all things to do with babies and toddlers. I would never consider myself to be “an expert mom,” as I have sort of been fumbling through the motions figuring this whole thing out. My own mother has been deceased for ten years, so I don’t have her to turn to when I have questions. I rely on friends, my sister and mommy message boards for advice. I suppose I could take these lessons and pass them along to others like me. I try to keep my topics here diverse, as not all of my readers are parents and I don’t want to bore them. Try as I might to avoid the subject, this blog seems to gravitate to mommy issues. I should add that the "niche blog" would be its own entity, separate from this blog.

The problem is that I hate “mommy blogs.” Unless I know the author or her children personally, I tend to not care or be bored by their stories and pictures. I don’t want to be “that mom.” I don’t want it to be personal for other reasons as well. The internet is a scary place where weirdoes congregate. I don’t want them to learn too much about my children. If I did a real mommy blog, I would probably take a page out of Michael Jackson’s book and put masks or paper bags over my children’s faces before taking a picture that I would post. Or, if they were really bad that day, I’d use plastic bags.

Maybe that’s where the answer lies. Maybe I need to be that mom that does things a little differently; the one that isn’t offended when the Elmo Camera says, “Work it baby! Give it to Elmo!” Or I could be the mom who openly admits that she lets her daughter stay in her jammies all day and feeds her leftover cold pizza for lunch and apple juice that isn’t organic . The mom that’s different or alternative.

Or maybe I should just write about concerts.