I think it’s time for some clarification. I often write with little regard for my audience. True, I try to keep things decent and interesting for the reader’s sake, and I genuinely hope anyone who reads anything I’ve written can take something positive away from it, but I do have a tendency to forget that most of you reading this know a woman outside of the infinite blog space; one with skin and bones and a penchant for pointing out the silver lining (however annoying that may be). And even those of you who really don’t know the woman I am, but remember the girl who lived in the little yellow house, well, I can see how some of what I post on here could raise some questions for you as well.
When I write I try to keep it as honest as possible. And my words are honest, even the creative parts, sometimes excruciatingly so. I wish I could say I write for the pure enjoyment of it, or for something major: like humanity or world peace or something. But really, my reasons are boring. I write when I feel like it, and usually only because I am compelled to do so. Sometimes I get strung out on the craft, wake up at 3am thinking I am thirsty, and end up scribbling out thoughts until dawn, only to have my husband wake up super freaked out, wondering if I am possessed. And then sometimes I go weeks and weeks without writing a single original sentence and feel perfectly fine. Sometimes I get up two hours before my daughter, with plenty of time to write, but opt instead to watch Good Morning America with a cup of coffee (or five). Sometimes I think I hate writing and swear to myself that my hand will never press a hopeful pen to a piece of paper again. Sometimes I feel genuine panic at the possibility of living the rest of my life without creating another story or poem or chapter of a novel I will never attempt to publish because I never really wanted to commit to it in the first place. There is no rhyme or reason. As Henry James said, “Our doubt is our passion and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art.”
So, back to my point…
With pieces like Thoughts on Depression, Smile Aphrodite, Desvanecerse, Superbia, and any others…please do not mistake those snapshots for who I am as a whole. I would never put anything on here I could not share with my husband or my dad or my oldest friends… and I think that is important to say. This space is simply a gallery; a photo album; a place where I can display the pieces of me I would like to share, but it does not tell the whole story. This is not a room I use to pour my soul out, although I might put some groovy soul paint on the trim. I do not document everything I see, nor do I share everything I write. Like most people, I have crappy days I’d really rather not talk about and days of pure and utter bliss I'd like to keep for myself. I enjoy my moments of insight, but there are also many times I seem to be incredibly near sighted and dull. Not everything I write is about me personally, even when I am speaking in the first person. In fact, a large portion of what I put to paper involves the parts of life I’ve never even “seen” for myself.
I suppose sometimes the stories really do choose us.
So with that said, I would like to thank you all for laughing and pondering right along with me as I continue to muse my way through this enchanting life of mine. Thank you for your patience as I clumsily attempt to capture the beautiful things surrounding me and also as I learn to develop a respectful understanding of the not-so-pretty stuff.
But thank you most of all for the lovely pieces of you that you have offered to share with me.
