Friday, August 24, 2012

Dear Blog,

I haven't forgotten about you blog, in fact, I think about you at least once a day. I dream up ideas for posts and think about how that post- beginning, middle and end. But nothing makes it into this white box because I want whatever I put here to be perfect even though nothing here is perfect. It's like how some people untag unflattering pictures on Facebook, but in the reverse. I have the power to decide how this blog will look and what it will say, I'm creating the image I want people to see of me and that's a lot of pressure! I might be over thinking this but isn't the internet forever? I think I read that somewhere once. What I want to become President one day (hah) or become famous (hah) and some mean person who isn't a fan of whatever work of mine that has made me famous decides to dig up dirt on me and finds this blog and suddenly all of TMZ/E!/MTV/Conan/Soup are making fun of embarrassing blog posts of mine? WHAT IF.

More so, I read a lot of blogs. Some are frilly and fun (still with good writing) and some are more serious and talk about life in the way most young people don't (with exceptional writing). Instead of inspiring me or making me appreciative of the art of writing, they just cripple me with a feeling of inadequacy  When I hear a song, I think it's a shame I'm as great a singer. When I see a pretty girl, I think it's a shame I'm not as pretty (clearly my post on compliments/comparing ourselves to one another didn't stick :/ ) . So naturally when I read, I think it's a shame I'm not as good a writer. To be fair, I mostly just feel this when I read blogs. That's because I don't pick up In Cold Blood and wish I could create that kind of suspense because I don't have any interest in penning a murder novel. But I do write blog posts and there is no reason, without some dedication and investment, I couldn't write like that too. And in an ideal world, I would write every single day. Not just write blog posts, but write short stories, poems, anything at all. I remember what I loved most about the creative writing class I took Sophomore year of college was that I finally had a reason to schedule time everyday to sit down and write. Sharing your stories and talking about characters and wondering about the phrasing of this and the structure of that with like-minded writers was such an enriching experience, it eventually led to my taking graduate level poetry classes.

But then there kind of is a reason, or perhaps, an excuse why I don't write everyday. It's called a job and it prevents me from doing a lot of things between the hours of 9am and 6pm. And when I get home at 6, I want to unwind and not feel like I have to be the best at anything, let alone something that requires turning the creaky wheels in my brain. So, blog, after this long rant, my point is, (lord, look at all those commas!) I'm sorry and I love you and we'll be together when we can.

Until then,