It occurred to me this past weekend that I have been blogging all wrong.
I have always tried to sum up everything I wanted to say into a single topic. My last attempt was a blog I called ‘Raising Steel.’ I had intended it to be a series of anecdotes about my kids, about using humour to get through the tough patches, about raising them to be strong, independent, contributing citizens. About the only thing I got right was the humour. Most of the posts about the kids ended up being more about them/me/and technology. Eventually, they ended up just being about me.
Some mom I am.
Until this weekend when I attended a writers’ symposium that stressed to a room full of writers how important it is to have an online presence now. I confidently sat back and thought, “Ah-ha-ha. I have many online presences.” Most of which I start and never finish.
But the one thing I haven’t had was an online venue from which I could simply express all of the intelligent, insightful, ingenious, and whack crap that runs through my head at a constant pace. And by ‘whack crap’ I mean every little – and big – idea that jumps into my head, every conclusion I reach, every fight I take on, every story I create, every experience I have, and every opinion I hold with such certainty that if I don’t get it out of my head, I will most certainly explode like a little packet of ketchup under the sneaker of the average 12-year-old boy. Most of the time, I try desperately to keep my mouth shut. But I can’t; it hurts. I think if I keep trying I will end up with a moderately severe injury to my spleen.
So many, many times I have tried to keep a journal – and more recently have opted for the simpler act of blogging. But all I’ve managed to do was to leave a long trail of half finished thoughts and wholehearted attempts. Never have I been able to stick to a regular recording of my musings. I realize now that I have suffered from my inability to limit myself to a single title. I need to broaden my arena.
I need to express myself, not as a woman, a writer, a mother, a publisher, an artist, a daughter, a builder, a sister, an inventor, a voter, a wife – or whatever else I end up being, or not being – and to start to present myself as ~~~ a writer.
Because, in the end, the only thing that all of my stories, anecdotes, thoughts, ideas, opinions, jokes, and essays have had in common, in every blog, journal, and note I’ve ever managed to create, was that I wrote them down.
And so, without focus or direction, purpose or expectation, I share with you the convictions I hold that escape my control and end up on a page.
You can contact Alex Meryn by commenting under her blog posts. Or by e-mail at alexmeryn (at) gmail (dot) com
Thanks for reading.
What’s With All The Blue Dots?
My need to Tweet was born of a disastrous day spent amongst the crotchety public who all seemed to decide at the same time that I was invisible. I was cut off in traffic a dozen times, hit with a fully loaded shopping cart, butt in front of at the checkout, bumped into, pushed, swore at, insulted, and assaulted by an errant three-year-old with a ridiculously inept mother and an ice cream cone.
The composure that I retained throughout these misadventures should be commended by the highest of honours. I wondered what reward Karma was planning for me in light of my composure, my restraint, and my commitment to manners. I bought a lottery ticket, just in case. This was going to be a big one.
Of course, when all was said and done, all I had was bruised calves and extra laundry. I needed to vent. My family could see the pressure rising and hid. But one teenage son suggested, via text, that I Tweet my frustrations to the world.
Oddly, I felt this might help. I would blurt my thoughts to the Cloud and who cared what I said or how I said it. I would speak my mind. Openly and freely. No one would ever read what I wrote. I would just complain to the universe. The crap that I would throw out there would liberate me from the frustrations and stress of daily life.
And if anyone ever did read it, well, I’m sure it would explode like it had just hit the fan.
And so, I began to Tweet. I signed on as IntoTheFan. Now, after a little time has passed, I don’t Tweet as much as I thought I would. And it’s really not as nasty as I thought it would be. But just knowing that I can pick up my phone and publicly slam someone just for being an inconsiderate boob, I am more relaxed and tolerant than I have been in a long time.
Maybe everybody should Tweet.
Alex Meryn is the pen name used by RomanticShorts.com Founder, Alexandra Brown.