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This is one of those posts where I list a bunch of things I might possibly consider posting about, and just generally discuss the post-ability of what it is I post. Which, in itself, could be quite a post.
When I get into my self-loathing I-suck-as-a-writer-because-I-have-nothing-to-write-about funks (which is ALSO the subject of a possible, highly philosophical, post I have considered making), I usually try to come out of it by journaling all the more, and then deciding that I've failed because now I just spend all my writing time journaling. Which is mildly ironic, because journaling is, after all, writing. I discovered that I actually DO have Stories. I have quite a LOT that is Unique to myself, that only I can tell. I have autobiographical stories and bizarre fantasies and random observations that are, indeed, only mine.
Why, for example, can I not step up to the circ computer to check someone's books out without grabbing a small piece of tape off the dispenser? This is obviously something unique, and therefore I am the only person who could share this bit of the universe with the world.
But that's the thing. Tape dispenser abuse does not a STORY make. Neither do my bizarre fantasies and random observations. Autobiography-- well, it's so blatantly ABOUT REAL PEOPLE. Even when you change the names. You can really only get away with putting it OUT there when you're ABOUT TO DIE SO NOBODY CARES ANYMORE. (It occurred to me the other day that Anne Frank is an example of someone whose journaling became quite influential. But mostly because she was DEAD).
My paper journal at home has been filling up quickly with all sorts of delightful garbage written to prompts or maybe just off the top of my head. I ended up taking three whole days to finish writing to the prompt "the love who got away"-- it's actually a great story, sort of, but it's, you know, about real people, as autobiographies are wont to be, and as such I'm not sure it's fit for the Internet. The prompt "a time when your spiritual beliefs did/did not sustain you" made me bawl, and is so full of powerful raw emotion... and involves people who read this blog and none of us come out of it smelling all that peachy so it's so not fit for the Internet. The bizarre fictional story prompt which resulted in a scene I've entitled "Chronicling My Short, Strange, and Debatably Profitable Run-in With the Pipeweed Mafia. I Think" makes me giggle every time I think of it, but it is wrong in so many ways and could be considered libelous, if it could at all be taken seriously. And there was the time I had to answer whether I wanted a monkey, goat, or snake as a pet, and for some reason writing it I was sure my ramblings about my imaginary goat were the funniest most brilliant thing I have ever written, but in fact I can't figure out where the even "mildly amusing" parts are now, so it's a bit like drunken emailing, except that I wrote it first thing in the morning while in perfect health, so it's more like not realizing you've ordered an 18-inch Stonehenge.
Anyway, I feel like my paper journal has been stealing all the fun. I really ought to be writing to prompts HERE, for your benefit (such that it may be), but I don't have time for that, although maybe it's that I don't have my Magical Box of Prompts here with me, as it lives beside my bed so I can write first thing in the morning. I could SHARE with you the Tantalizingly Best Moments of my paper journal, if the Tantalizingly Best Moments did not tend to be so Incriminating, and I happened to carry my paper journal around with me (which I might start doing, because I think I'm moving back to small Steno notebooks after I finish the stack of paper I'm on now), and if I didn't suddenly realize how very much I am clearly the only audience for these things whenever I actually read it to decide what to share.
And occasionally I write Important Philosophical Things-- like I mentioned above about the voice in the back of ones head that keeps telling one that one sucks? Had a religious epiphany about that voice the other day, and it made me want to spread the word about the importance of Validation, how Validation is the work of the Holy Spirit and everybody ought to be Validating each other whenever possible, which does not sound nearly so revelatory condensed like that. I thought of sharing that here...
Then I've had some other bloggy ideas I've been kicking around, brought on by reading things online and then comparing them to my own children. I want to expand on the What-Good-Is-a-Paper-Book theme by sharing some observations of my kids. I thought about writing about the concept of gender, and how in some ways it seems so clear-cut but when you actually think about it you realize how completely UNclear it is.
Heck, I could even just tell you about the exceedingly busy week-and-a-half we just had.
In the comments of that entry where I said people could give me ideas of stuff to post, I got a request for a post on potty-training and a request for comparing Wrinkle in Time to current big-popular literary franchises.
So, I have lots of stuff to BLOG about, certainly, and yet somehow THOSE never quite get anywhere either. How to turn all the junk in my head into actual audience-worthy fictional STORIES? I'm even more lost.
When I get into my self-loathing I-suck-as-a-writer-because-I-have-nothing-to-write-about funks (which is ALSO the subject of a possible, highly philosophical, post I have considered making), I usually try to come out of it by journaling all the more, and then deciding that I've failed because now I just spend all my writing time journaling. Which is mildly ironic, because journaling is, after all, writing. I discovered that I actually DO have Stories. I have quite a LOT that is Unique to myself, that only I can tell. I have autobiographical stories and bizarre fantasies and random observations that are, indeed, only mine.
Why, for example, can I not step up to the circ computer to check someone's books out without grabbing a small piece of tape off the dispenser? This is obviously something unique, and therefore I am the only person who could share this bit of the universe with the world.
But that's the thing. Tape dispenser abuse does not a STORY make. Neither do my bizarre fantasies and random observations. Autobiography-- well, it's so blatantly ABOUT REAL PEOPLE. Even when you change the names. You can really only get away with putting it OUT there when you're ABOUT TO DIE SO NOBODY CARES ANYMORE. (It occurred to me the other day that Anne Frank is an example of someone whose journaling became quite influential. But mostly because she was DEAD).
My paper journal at home has been filling up quickly with all sorts of delightful garbage written to prompts or maybe just off the top of my head. I ended up taking three whole days to finish writing to the prompt "the love who got away"-- it's actually a great story, sort of, but it's, you know, about real people, as autobiographies are wont to be, and as such I'm not sure it's fit for the Internet. The prompt "a time when your spiritual beliefs did/did not sustain you" made me bawl, and is so full of powerful raw emotion... and involves people who read this blog and none of us come out of it smelling all that peachy so it's so not fit for the Internet. The bizarre fictional story prompt which resulted in a scene I've entitled "Chronicling My Short, Strange, and Debatably Profitable Run-in With the Pipeweed Mafia. I Think" makes me giggle every time I think of it, but it is wrong in so many ways and could be considered libelous, if it could at all be taken seriously. And there was the time I had to answer whether I wanted a monkey, goat, or snake as a pet, and for some reason writing it I was sure my ramblings about my imaginary goat were the funniest most brilliant thing I have ever written, but in fact I can't figure out where the even "mildly amusing" parts are now, so it's a bit like drunken emailing, except that I wrote it first thing in the morning while in perfect health, so it's more like not realizing you've ordered an 18-inch Stonehenge.
Anyway, I feel like my paper journal has been stealing all the fun. I really ought to be writing to prompts HERE, for your benefit (such that it may be), but I don't have time for that, although maybe it's that I don't have my Magical Box of Prompts here with me, as it lives beside my bed so I can write first thing in the morning. I could SHARE with you the Tantalizingly Best Moments of my paper journal, if the Tantalizingly Best Moments did not tend to be so Incriminating, and I happened to carry my paper journal around with me (which I might start doing, because I think I'm moving back to small Steno notebooks after I finish the stack of paper I'm on now), and if I didn't suddenly realize how very much I am clearly the only audience for these things whenever I actually read it to decide what to share.
And occasionally I write Important Philosophical Things-- like I mentioned above about the voice in the back of ones head that keeps telling one that one sucks? Had a religious epiphany about that voice the other day, and it made me want to spread the word about the importance of Validation, how Validation is the work of the Holy Spirit and everybody ought to be Validating each other whenever possible, which does not sound nearly so revelatory condensed like that. I thought of sharing that here...
Then I've had some other bloggy ideas I've been kicking around, brought on by reading things online and then comparing them to my own children. I want to expand on the What-Good-Is-a-Paper-Book theme by sharing some observations of my kids. I thought about writing about the concept of gender, and how in some ways it seems so clear-cut but when you actually think about it you realize how completely UNclear it is.
Heck, I could even just tell you about the exceedingly busy week-and-a-half we just had.
In the comments of that entry where I said people could give me ideas of stuff to post, I got a request for a post on potty-training and a request for comparing Wrinkle in Time to current big-popular literary franchises.
So, I have lots of stuff to BLOG about, certainly, and yet somehow THOSE never quite get anywhere either. How to turn all the junk in my head into actual audience-worthy fictional STORIES? I'm even more lost.
