I have a hard time just posting here. For years, I slapped down thoughts every which way on my original dipping-my-toes-in-the-Interwebs blog (Little Flower Petals), but this place intimidates me.
It was easier, hiding under a pseudonym, and not worrying that people I knew in real life might find out about things like my pen and pencil obsession, the fact that I possess far more than my share of expensive notebooks, and that (she whispered) I write stories.
Also, this site is sleeker, less lived in. Throwing things down here is kind of like writing on the first few pages of those fancy notebooks. I feel like I should be writing profundity, but (though I do have some profound thoughts, really I do), my default mode is more along the lines of stupid pet stories and geekery. I don’t know if I should save this site for my brief moments of profundity and stick the other junk elsewhere, or if it’d be better to just be honest, and mix it all up.
This is a reoccurring struggle I had at the original blog, too. I don’t know what I am. I don’t know what I should be. And in any communication, there’s always a question of voice: do you choose to portray yourself as only that one little serious corner of your mind, pretending the rest doesn’t exist? Do you speak as openly and as bluntly and as goofily (is that a word?) as you might with your oldest and closest friends and family? Do you strictly aim to entertain, shutting off any topics that might cause disagreement?
To add to the complexity, I’ve spent the last four or five months feeling like it’d be a lot simpler to just give up any attempts to write seriously. I suppose we all go through phases where we struggle with the fact that we just aren’t good enough to write the stories we want to write or clever enough to write the sort of articles we could respect. And yet, I get…itchy when I don’t write at all. Hence this.
At the end of the day, I guess I just want to write. About…stuff. And it’ll have to be at my own level and in my own way.
Maybe that’s enough.