I’ve been thinking about this blog thing, pretty much figuring that I need more photos. Bells and whistles and blinking avatars. Something bright and shiny like fishing lures. Then I figured out what was wrong.
I began this blog because it seemed to be a good way to offer information about writerly things that I think, do, or will do, and it was, in my head, written to a general public, a writerly general public, which reduced the reader to a common denomnator, and my words felt common, and only vaguely interesting. Heartfelt, but dry. Even I wouldn’t stop by often. Maybe blogging is easier than making a lot of phone calls, or mass e-mails, but it somehow bores me to tears. This will not work. Not for you. Not for me.
The blog entries that interest me most are those that share a quick personal moment, or an intriguing or lyrical line one might think about for the rest of the day. Someone opens a tiny door in their head for me to peek into, shows me something quite personal they are willing to offer to others. Something they care about. They hold it out to me and say, if you like, here it is. Thanks for looking. I grow bored with the doors that are too wide open, where I feel as if I’m watching someone trim their toenails.
So, while writing a blog post about how I think about writing a blog (all of which I erased twice already), I came to wonder what it is I want from blogging, and who I’m writing to anyway. I don’t want to generalize my reader, so that my words become careful and sweet, even if somewhat helpful. (To me? To them?) And yet, I want to, need to, blog. The world of writing, and publishing, is changing, and I need to try to get my feet wet in this river of webwords. I need to see if I can swim here, too–or not. And I want attention, just like everyone else who blogs. I want to say something in this public format.
So, this is what I’ve come up with, for now. I’m going to write to a particular person. Make it personal. I picked you because you’re a writer. Maybe you’ll write back. Or not. No pressure. Maybe other people will write in. But I’m going to write to you, K. Hope that’s okay. (People may think they know who you are, but don't worry, they can't be sure. I can name four writer freinds who's names start with the letter K.)
Short notes from now on. Probably. Sometimes I go on too long. You know that about me. You’ve been very kind to let me go on. I’ve always felt you were a really good person to talk with.
Until the next time,
peace and all good things,