I’m taking ten days off from blogging to complete the work of the school year—exams, final grade reports, and the like. I will continue to post daily haiku, but my next real post will be June 4th.
This hiatus comes at a good time. Since the beginning of this blog, I’ve been ambivalent. I love the practice of writing. The thought that my practice yields any readers at all is surprising and gratifying. And looking at all the prose and poetry I’ve produced in the last year and a half is astounding. So many words! Even if I sometimes suspect most of my words are poorly chosen, badly ordered, and haphazardly assembled into loose and sloppy thinking, there’s no denying I’ve written a ton.
None of those consolations, however, erase my doubts:
- Do I have anything to say—not just tomorrow or later this week, but at all? Is what I’m doing here publishing or hiding from the fear of being rejected if I really did try to publish?
- Does the energy I expend here subtract from the rest of my creative, personal, and professional life?
- What is the place and purpose of all this stuff I’ve produced—does it just keep circling like a derelict satellite, perpetually broadcasting its sputtering bursts of data?
- Does it matter if I’m read and should I be trying to cultivate a “readership”?
- How do I balance my devotion to this blog and my desire to be part of a wider blogging community when it sometimes seems I don’t have time to both read and write online?
Summer waits on the other side of this break from blogging. I need time to think—though I’ll be teaching summer school for a couple of weeks, I’m hoping to set some time aside to reevaluate. I know I want to continue—which is progress really—but I’d love to come back with a clearer sense of purpose.
I want to revamp the appearance of my blog—a blog I created for one of my classes opened my eyes to other designs and options—but I’d also like to begin assembling these poems and essays and paintings into something outside this virtual space. I’d like to make manuscripts of poems or essays or, perhaps, create a true gallery presence on the web. I don’t know if these labors will accomplish anything in the real world, but the process of polishing and ordering seems exciting on its own, the next stage after practicing, another step in my artistic evolution.
What do you—if there is a “you”—care? Maybe not at all. You might not be interested, and I certainly don’t owe anyone this explanation. Frankly, I don’t know if anything I say matters except that it matters to me. I like making semi-public declarations and calling myself out. Perhaps that’s why I blog.
I’m looking forward to the break, but I’m also looking forward to returning in an evolved form. It’s hard to fix a car while it’s running, so I’m pulling over for a bit.
Filed under: Blog Stats, Blogging, Confession, Doubt, Education, Essays, Habit, Hope, Human Nature, Ideas, Identity, Life, Musings, Novelty, Publication, Summer, Thoughts, Time, Work, Writing
I love your analogy at the end. I feel that way with my blog too sometimes. It seems goofy to keep writing in this most personal forum and then random people become unrandom and read it. And say stuff about it.
I don’t think you’ve really “made it” with your blog until people start to say negative shit. Although, you are far from controversial. You know what I mean?
I get it though. And feel the same. Break out of your rut. Just write!
xx
Very few negatives responses, you’re right—I’ve been hearing all my creative life that I should be more controversial, but what if I’m just not? What if being controversial would be playing a person I’m not? I do try to be honest but can’t help being accommodating too. I think that’s my nature. Maybe I’m holding something back and, at any moment, may go postal…but that would sure surprise me. —D
D – take that break. You might want to consider not publishing your poetry on the net – but rather compiling in a chap-book which you then shop around to small literary publishers. Your poems are that good that they would be picked up; and your drawings, judiciously augmenting your pages would make for a beautiful book. I for one would buy several copies to share with like-minded friends. G
I’d love to make that book myself. Though writing friends always tell me I should try to get someone else to make it first, part of me could care less if I made it or if a publisher made it. It’s not as though I’m after fame or money—if I could cover the cost, I’d be happy. —D
Blogging is ideal for making connections. When you do publish outside the blogosphere, your readers will know, and then buy your book, just as G. says.
Your writing is great. I always want to respond to your essays and poems. After your break, I hope you come back with a new plan. Please share, because I’m always in the process of tweaking what I do on the web.
I will share. I’ve been using this time off to write my next post in my head. When I will find time to renovate my blog’s appearance, I have no idea, but I have some grand ideas.
As for a book, I’ve always been shy of publication or self-promotion, and I know I either need to get over it or live with it. Part of me thinks I really don’t care if I’m ever published, and part of me says I’m only protecting myself from rejection. I don’t know which to believe. —D
You have a great artistic talent D–refresh.
Thanks. It does feel a little like rebooting, but I guess I should be rebooting every day, right? —D
You highlight the concerns and questions I have about my blogging life too. I was very struck by the cover article in this week’s New York Times Sunday magazine, by Emily Gould, a 24 year old blogger/Gawker editor/former Gawker editor who, in her words, as always overshared. Although her account of her written presence online is very different from the experience you or I are trying to create, I found the article fascinating nonetheless. It’s another point of view, and relevant to the questions you are asking.
I would be so disappointed personally if you stopped writing. Please, if it is oppressive, just write once a week rather than not at all. And the suggestions re publishing your poetry are all valid IMHO. But please please keep going. Yours is a favorite spot for me–a place to rest, to think, to be provoked in a non-invasive, respectful manner. There just aren’t that many stops like this one.
Thank you. You have always been so supportive and of course I’ll keep writing. I can’t not do that, if you follow my double negative. And thanks for calling my attention to the article. I haven’t checked out the NYTimes Magazine yet, but I’m tracking it down. So many people in the second city prefer the paper of the first, I know it’s sitting in someone’s recycling pile somewhere.
Thank you for being so generous in your attention to my work here. It really does keep me going. —D
I agree with Deborah. I feel like you’re a friend, a wise, self-effacing friend who always has something to say. Your site is very refreshing.
Thank you. I’m glad you have faith I will always have something to say. I’m sure your own experience as a blogger tells you that you don’t always feel that way. Sometimes I wonder how much I can mine my life before its house collapses in cloud of dust! —D
I had much the same thoughts about my earlier blogs, which I shut down.
Now that I have begun again, I find myself doing things I had sworn not to do on my blog, like post my poetry (some of it anyway)…..
But I have decided to quit worrying about it and just write, things will happen if they are meant to.
I now write as much off line as I do online, and my comp is stuffed with stories and poems at various stages.
I see that you have decided to continue after your hiatus, which can only be a good sign.
I have been a lurker on your blog for a while, and I have to say I find your blog honest, interesting and restful.
Thank you. I’m with you, I’d like to stop worrying and just write and—most of the time—I can manage it. I’m impressed that you can keep any writing going outside your blog. That, I haven’t been able to manage. Thanks for visiting! —D
I like the way you’ve organized the blog, D. It looks great.
Thank you! —D