Every now and then, I have the urge to write about my blogging experience. The spirit moves me, and I can’t even finished getting dressed, and write while half-naked. Does this ever happen to you?
I’m thinking about a comment I made earlier this week. The comment out of context will not make any sense to you. I’ll paraphrase the emotion behind it instead. I thought simply that the blogosphere is not real life. It can’t pay my bills and do practical things like get me a job. I’ll just keep talking like that because maybe I’ll just land one that way. A new approach.
Yet for it being virtual and for not really knowing every aspect of your lives, dear readers, blogging friends, what you say matters to me. Hopefully, what I say matters to you. And, it is, indeed, personal. We share parts of ourselves, deep emotions, experiences, hopes, dreams, failings…all out in the open for all to read and access. But, I’ve become aware that I share a sliver of myself with you, maybe only the part that I want you to see. It’s easy to do. We all can make ourselves into whatever we’d like here.
I’ve come to enjoy the honest posts that reveal something personal about a blogger, maybe a recent discovery or a remembrance of a past experience, things that make me delve deeper into my own personal narrative. What do I reveal, I ask myself? After reading a such a post, I wonder if I could be so bold, or do I need to create another blog? I could anonymous….hey, I may have already created it. I could spout things that might make my readers uncomfortable, write things that are controversial. I could really piss you off, and you wouldn’t even know who it was that was pissing you off. Would the writing lose some of its value then?
Typically, I write on a whim. Possibly, I may have a couple of posts planned that I’d like to write, but then an idea will come in between them and I will write that one instead. That said, I don’t give a lot of consideration for necessarily how I’m presenting myself, of how I’m branding myself. I guess that could be construed by what I’m writing then…but what then, if I’m not paying attention to that. You will decide for yourself if I don’t tell what you what I am. Do I care? Should I care if all I’m doing is wanting to create and share pieces of writing with you?
An anonymous blog full of secrets would be like stumbling on a diary of sorts. What then is the difference? The writer is the only who sees the diary, supposedly. Of course, there’s always fiction. You can write whatever you like then, because even if it is true you can disguise it as fiction. But is it blogging that is the the new fiction, where the stories people tell truthful, but the writer, sometimes anonymous, therefore, possibly fictional? I mean, of course, they’re real people. I’m not losing my mind here.
Do my random thoughts make any sense? Have I at least given you something to ponder this holiday season? This is post #95. It would have made more sense to do some grand reflection for post #100.
I used to keep a diary for as long as I remember. In my first diary, I had very little space to write. I would write things like: Dear Diary, School today. Went swimming. Ate pizza. At the very least, I think this is better than that!
The Bumble Files
P.S. This is not at all the post I was supposed to do today.