Unless they are writing as an expert on a particular topic, I generally avoid people who are drawn to writing personal blogs. In my experience, people who publish diaries online are full of themselves, unaware of others, monopolize conversations, talk at their listeners, fail to listen, and turn to writing in blogs as an outlet to contain their words, words, words since people fall short of having the capacity to receive them. That and no one will return their phone calls. Unless, of course, the blogger is a model with a strong nerd following. No problems there. Regardless, blogs still strike me as vain, and vanity is not only boring, it is humiliating.
So why am I a hypocrite? The story goes: I wanted to be a writer as far back as I can remember. Fortunately for me, I had talent to go with my desire, as that is not always the case. I sought out opportunities at any school I went to for outlets, and if they weren't available, I wrote anyway. All my heroes were writers, and when I got to college, naturally my writing degree lead me to becoming published and eventually paying bills as a freelancer. But something's happened. I've clammed up and become one of the most private people I know. Too private. Clammed.
Now I still have an outlet. I've focused on songwriting completely and share what I've written though my CD and performances in music venues all over NYC, but music is less personal. I can hide the nakedness of the lyrics inside distractingly pretty melodies. I know how raw my writing is, and the melodies conceal a lot of that.
I've blamed my silence on having to give my time and energy to a full-time job. I've blamed how badly I've been treated by industry people and the City. I've blamed my becoming a Christian stripping me of my writers identity and confusing my voice... but they are all just excuses. I blame myself. Fearful and lazy. And before the gift atrophies permanently, I can at least start working it out here.
I realize I don't have to publish this, any of this... and I still am fighting the urge to delete the account altogether.... but the risk of someone actually reading all this somehow brings it to life. It is the same reason I must perform the songs I've written because unless someone hears them, they might as well not exist. And while I hope no one reads this, the risk will make me finish an entry, check the spelling, and in the end, keep me interested.
You could say that my disdain for personal bloggers is just displaced envy of their freedom to write with abandon, but I actually remember the insufferable meals and coffees and drinks I've had with personal bloggers. They talk far far too much.