Bogged Down in the Blogosphere
Posted: January 14th, 2010, 7:57 pm
“Blogosphere” wasn't even a word in my vocabulary until this week. Now I'm lost in it. Not lost in an existential sense, but literally lost, like being in a country where you only know enough of the language to book a hotel room or find a bathroom.
I started a blog because I'm a lifelong writer who wasn't writing, except for sad little journal entries. They weren't sad because of the content, but because, to my mind at least, they needed to be expanded and shared.
Writing for me is like an old marriage. I take it for granted, and I ignore my need for it. So I started a blog, and now I find myself in this wonderful but overwhelming new world, complete with its own social structure and linguistic eccentricities.
Today I spent so long dicking around with Google, and trying to figure out how to get my posts to be announced on my Facebook, that I missed my evening walk. Again. The irony, of course, is that one of the main things I've been wanting to write about are these walks.
Then I procrastinated writing a post by following up on comments I had made on other people's blogs.
I had other plans today, too. I was going to clean the whole house (well, at least mop the kitchen and vacuum the living room) because I'm throwing a dinner party for my eldest's 18th birthday tomorrow night. And while an 18th birthday is a huge milestone under any circumstances, this one is especially so, because she's the kind of kid who was born older than she is. She should have been 18 when she was 15.
But I digress. The bewilderment I'm experiencing is because, (in addition to touring the blogosphere without a guidebook), I'm writing again and have too many ideas. I often think of poor Richard Madoc, from the Sandman comic series by Neil Gaiman (#17, “Calliope”). Morpheus curses him with ideas. They just keep coming and coming until they drive him mad and he ends up writing them on the wall with his own flesh and blood.
That's why I've avoided writing, because it's like gasoline poured on the fire of my thought processes. If I don't write, I can keep the house from burning down. (Or I can at least find time to clean the house.)
Now I'm practically erupting with things I want to write about, but today, instead of trying to get ANY of it down, I got sucked into all these non-writing aspects of blogging.
I got some really good advice tonight, though. From my sometimes sort of partner, baby daddy. My not husband, not boyfriend, more than a friend, we'll figure it out as we go life partner with no commitment.
What he said was "Keep it pure."
So here I am, typing away, pouring it all out, because one thing I told myself about this blogging business is that I would be honest. Fear of honesty is one of the things that's kept me away from writing. Fear of being turned inside out, raw, with my guts spilling everywhere. If that happens, I'll just follow Richard Madoc's example, I guess, and redecorate my walls. And then I won't have to worry about verification words and RSS feeds anymore.
Yeah. I'm just going to write, and let the widgets and gadgets find their way to me later. Or not.
I started a blog because I'm a lifelong writer who wasn't writing, except for sad little journal entries. They weren't sad because of the content, but because, to my mind at least, they needed to be expanded and shared.
Writing for me is like an old marriage. I take it for granted, and I ignore my need for it. So I started a blog, and now I find myself in this wonderful but overwhelming new world, complete with its own social structure and linguistic eccentricities.
Today I spent so long dicking around with Google, and trying to figure out how to get my posts to be announced on my Facebook, that I missed my evening walk. Again. The irony, of course, is that one of the main things I've been wanting to write about are these walks.
Then I procrastinated writing a post by following up on comments I had made on other people's blogs.
I had other plans today, too. I was going to clean the whole house (well, at least mop the kitchen and vacuum the living room) because I'm throwing a dinner party for my eldest's 18th birthday tomorrow night. And while an 18th birthday is a huge milestone under any circumstances, this one is especially so, because she's the kind of kid who was born older than she is. She should have been 18 when she was 15.
But I digress. The bewilderment I'm experiencing is because, (in addition to touring the blogosphere without a guidebook), I'm writing again and have too many ideas. I often think of poor Richard Madoc, from the Sandman comic series by Neil Gaiman (#17, “Calliope”). Morpheus curses him with ideas. They just keep coming and coming until they drive him mad and he ends up writing them on the wall with his own flesh and blood.
That's why I've avoided writing, because it's like gasoline poured on the fire of my thought processes. If I don't write, I can keep the house from burning down. (Or I can at least find time to clean the house.)
Now I'm practically erupting with things I want to write about, but today, instead of trying to get ANY of it down, I got sucked into all these non-writing aspects of blogging.
I got some really good advice tonight, though. From my sometimes sort of partner, baby daddy. My not husband, not boyfriend, more than a friend, we'll figure it out as we go life partner with no commitment.
What he said was "Keep it pure."
So here I am, typing away, pouring it all out, because one thing I told myself about this blogging business is that I would be honest. Fear of honesty is one of the things that's kept me away from writing. Fear of being turned inside out, raw, with my guts spilling everywhere. If that happens, I'll just follow Richard Madoc's example, I guess, and redecorate my walls. And then I won't have to worry about verification words and RSS feeds anymore.
Yeah. I'm just going to write, and let the widgets and gadgets find their way to me later. Or not.