Friday, May 11, 2012

That voice in the back of my head

..sometimes it doesn't believe all it's supposed to.
..sometimes it needs to read something, turn it over and over in its mind, and look at the swiss-cheese qualities. The holes.
When I run into a story that doesn't quite make sense, I try to figure it out. Let me clarify--this actually happens on my own blog sometimes. I read my own entry and I think...what WAS I getting at there?
Then I sit with it, rest, and the answer comes to me.
Or I solve the problem, as if it comes out of the air, while I'm running.

I read Reagan's Blob again this morning. I liked the post entitled

It was fiesty. It was list-y (you know I'm a list lover). It was punchy.
It felt, to me, like it was defensively written, like it was like a 'so-there' of blog-land, a hasty dismissal of a medium that I think she's quite gifted at manipulating. And as one reader put it, it did feel like a bit of a 'scolding'.

I thought about my own blog (as always: turn the lens inward).
Do I check my traffic?  Hell yes.

Do I want to grow it? Yes. Why would I commit myself to something I planned on abandoning?  Most people know that blogging is the new way to a book deal. I want one. Most serious writers do. Nothing wrong with that.

Do I care if the people who read my blog hate me or like me? Hmm. Not really. I know that there are alot of people out there in internet-land who probably find me too caustic or depressing or lacking in photographic-entertainment or boasty or not boasty enough or don't like it because this isn't a mom-blog and all that stuff. That said, some people do like my blog (and me. Or  just my blog. Doesn't matter). I've had emails from people who are going through rough times and needed to hang out with some clouds overhead for a bit, before they moved back into the sunshine.
And I get the whole privacy-for-your-kid stuff. So that is a moot point.

Do I have a life outside my blog? Yes. But writing invades my head and my life far more than I would actually like. It's part of the solitude I cultivate. I picture myself, in a few years, of feeling that way even more about writing. And running. A kind-of life-long practice, one that doesn't delineate. Blogging, writing, running, reading. No matter how I feel.

Are some things in my life nobody's business? Yep. And they don't show up on here. That's what the fawn-lark journal is for. Google me all you want. Friends do, enemies do. What's that saying "the only reason someone would ever hate you is because they want to be just like you?" Yes. That's the one.

So, I appreciate the take-no-prisoners attitude. I employ it myself. But blogs DO matter, especially good ones, and anyone who takes the stance that they are just out here in blog-land blithely writing for themselves and the good of the planet is kind of naive. Not in a bad way. And I get it.
It's hard to put on a good front sometimes when the life you've constructed has proven itself to be a house of cards and it folds in. Being made a fool of is embarassing, but having it speculated on is the real sore spot. I've been there. It hurts. Alot.

Enough said. I won't belabour.
That's just what I had to say.

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