Let me first warn my potential readers that this turned into more sad-sack whine-fest than I had envisioned.
I have wanted to start a blog for a while, but I’ve always had doubts. First, I don’t think I’m very interesting. Any time there is an exercise where people are meant to share one interesting fact about themselves, I draw a blank. A few weeks ago I was in such a position, while others shared their gusto for triathlons and artisanal woodworking, I replied with, “Um, I like to watch TV with my cat.” Every time someone asks me if anything’s new, or if I have any plans for the evening, I tense up. I’ve thought of coming up with a list of fun-yet-plausible plans I could serve up as lies.
Even if I were interesting, I lack faith in my ability to captivate an audience. My voice gets lost in a group setting. I’ll try to jump into a conversation a few times, but when I realize no one is listening, and no one intends to listen, I just give up and hope there are some desserts left. Even one-on-one I find people don’t listen to me. I’ll speak several sentences only to be told, “Wait, I missed the part after (the third word).” People who call my job, presumably to hear what I have to say, don’t even listen to me! Many times a day I will ask, “What town do you live in?” only to receive an answer like, “Around 12:30.”
I am just not a very popular or charismatic person, I suppose. When I think of starting a blog, I think of the “old days” when Livejournal was so cool. (It still exists, by the way, though it’s totally unrecognizable from it’s 2002 form). I got in on the Livejournal craze when you needed an invitation to join—somehow I managed to get one from an internet stranger whose name I couldn’t tell you now. I was, at times, a prolific Livejournal-er, writing about the very “edgy” stuff that occupies eighteen-year-old minds. With my “edgy” topics, “excellent” writing (some of my English teachers said it was good!), and my clever use of The Twilight Zone episode names as entry titles, you would think my Livejournal would have drawn many enthusiastic followers. Sadly, that was not the case. I would check my email every few hours (sometimes minutes) hoping for a poignant comment on my latest Livejournal post, but any comments I received were seldom and disappointing. Other users had five times as many comments! Two, three or four times as many followers! I even applied to be a moderator of a Livejournal community only to be dismissed in the first round of scrutiny. But of course I’m not bitter because that was over ten years ago, and that community was full of stupid jerks.
Of course it doesn’t matter if I am cool, or if I am well liked. I’m a strong, vibrant 2010s (Is it still 2000s? When do we get to use the actual decade again?) woman with her own will and ideas. I should be able to express what I like, and to hell with anyone who isn’t impressed! That’s what I would like to think, anyway, but I know that even if no one else reads what I write, I’ll still have to read it. I, like most people, don’t like reading crap. And I fear that I don’t have many good ideas, except for my vision of a horror movie about werepenguins (like werewolves, but penguins). As you may have guessed from the use of quotation marks, my Livejournal entries were not very edgy at all. They were nothing like some of the popular blogs today. I don’t live on a million-dollar ranch with a Marlboro Man-type husband. I don’t plan on making 300 sandwiches in exchange for an engagement. I don’t have goofy-looking kids to write about, and I don’t even own a DSLR camera. What type of quality can I bring to the word of blogging?
To be honest, I don’t even think my writing is very good. Right now I’m quite self-conscious of the fact that I’ve used the word “don’t” four times In the past five sentences, and I can’t decide whether that’s cool repetition, or annoying repetition. I have received some praise and encouragement regarding my writing, which makes me want to keep trying. But I feel like a bit of a fraud every time I get an A on a writing assignment. I think back to the time when my Senior English teacher was so enthusiastic about my poems that she convinced me to submit them to some sort of writing contest. When my poems weren’t accepted, my teacher felt so bad that she took me out for ice cream. I felt more sorry for her than myself, because then, I thought, she knew that my writing was actually kind of crappy. Another time I decided to enter my college women’s center’s writing contest. The winner received a cash prize, and I was told not many people entered: fewer than ten, I think. Also I really wanted to be able to go to the women’s center annual dinner again. I didn’t win. I didn’t even come in second or third. Out of fewer than ten. I don’t think I ever even told anyone before now that I even entered because I was so embarrassed.
So for all of those reasons, as well as my renowned laziness, I have not started a blog until now. I’ve finally gotten an adequate kick in the pants to get more serious about writing, and I am very grateful for that. After all, I only have about seven or eight more years of being twenty-nine years old, and after that I imagine time will really get away from me. Now that I’ve told you to expect mediocre writing and bad ideas, I am glad to share some of my writing with whoever uses some precious time to read this. And I promise this will be the last sad-sack type of post I make, at least shorts season is in full swing.