There’s been a lot of discussion in my house of late about the future of this blog. Ok, truth be told it’s just me talking to myself but still…
I knew when I started this blog, Write or Else, that I had higher aspirations for it than me just talking to myself. Other blogs I’ve written were short-lived; they were just personal journals. A practice track, if you will, for stretching my legs and warming up my brain. They kept me from drawing stares as I muttered on the subway (actually, here in the big city nobody notices so I do it anyway).
Write or Else was created to be not so much a more serious outlet for me but a more thoughtful one. I’m more careful – I write, draft, edit, re-write…as if I were writing for a wider audience. I’m nervous, awkward, too careful. As I grow more comfortable with a multitude of eyes on my work, maybe I’ll relax because I’m funny. No, really, I am.
The true purpose here is to show off my writing, to let people “hear” my voice. God knows I don’t have anything earth shattering to say. However, publicizing this blog is like me standing in the middle of the forest surrounded by wolves, wearing Lady Gaga’s meat dress…you get the idea. It is terrifying. Up until this year I could count on the fingers of one hand those who’d been allowed to see my words. I’m shy. I need to get over it.
My quaking, shy self needs to understand that some people won’t like it; some people will. It surprises the hell out of me that a few people asked me to do a blog because they actually wanted to read me on a regular basis. I don’t think that sense of surprise and wonder will ever fade. As I’ve noticed on other blogs, some people read and leave critical comments. I have to tell myself this is ok. The point is, they’re reading. It’s all good. And if they’re just hateful and mean, they can be blocked.
I’m visualizing this blog as a kite. I’ve built it, I’ve dragged it down to the beach. Now I have to let it fly. Some days, the wind will catch it up and send it soaring. It will swoop and dance like a crazy bird in the sky. People might stop and admire it. Other days, the wind will be light and I will run myself ragged trying to send it aloft. People will pass me by and say things like, “What the hell is she on about?” But we will be back tomorrow to try again.
Calling myself a writer and never letting my words fly is…pointless. I’ve been talking to myself long enough. Deep breath.