I have a confession to make. I am not good at this blogging thing. If you have been reading this blog from the beginning, which (with one exception) you have probably not been, then you already know that I am not good at this. If not, here is my warning. My posts are way too long. I don’t want to make them shorter thought. There is so much out there that needs to be said. Everything has a context, and context makes for a richer experience. I want to give the richest experience possible.
I’m not exactly looking for readers. I was a writing major in college, and I discovered that sharing my work with other people leads only to heartache. Every writing major is both afraid to be hurt their friend/classmate’s feeling and terrified that said friend/classmate is a better writer. It makes for some pretty awful (and contradictory) critiques. I fear that actively seeking a readership will be a repeat of a college nightmare I have tried very hard to forget. Besides, most of the people I know (again, with one exception) don’t particularly want to read blogs anyway.
There is another reason for blogging even though I am not good at it. Every November I feel guilty that I neglect to write a novel for NaNoWriMo. I started this blog this month because I thought that maybe writing every day would alleviate the guilt I feel. I feel less guilty, although not completely absolved. Perhaps if I wrote every day rather than most days I would feel better. My last post could have been a novella all on its own if it were fiction.
Finally, one last confession. The reason I am not good at blogging is the same reason I am not good at being in therapy. I don’t want to talk about myself, and I hate telling stories. In fact, I talk relatively little. This post is really painful to write. Sure, all my posts have been from a first person perspective, but the posts are fundamentally about other things: sport, politics, television, LGBT issues, etc. These things orbit my life but keep a respectful distance.
So why am I telling you this? Well, dear reader, I feel we have begun a relationship of sorts. If you have stuck with me thus far, I do feel like I want to tell you a little about myself and where I am coming from. You will not however, know much more about who I am as a person–at least not from me explicitly. This seems only fair. I will most likely never know about you, but you are doing me a service by reading what I write. I appreciate it, so I thought I should at least introduce myself to you.