“The act of regularly opening yourself up in full view of an army of strangers is choosing to be exposed; to consent to have one’s unprotected innards trespassed upon and rooted through. This vulnerability comes at a great personal price, one that is never really ever repaid. The writer is always in the red.” — John Pavlovitz
This quote comes from a great piece titled: Thank You For Bleeding: A Love Letter To Writers
For the past six months or so (
maybe probably longer) I’ve really struggled with what to do with this space. This question has been banging about as so much has changed for me since I started writing here, nearly four years ago. Having recently transformed the space around me, I realized that in a sense, doing so, has transformed me personally. Or vice versa. What came first, the chicken, or the egg… it appears the jury is still out on that one.
Originally, when I started blogging in 2008 (anonymously and in a different space) I wrote about the trials and tribulations (and the fun!) of raising a large family. But then that family grew up (and really deserved their privacy in the process) and thus that blog evolved into this one, a space about the trials and tribulations (and the fun) of me growing up.
The main challenge in this has always been that my life is not a one woman show. Thankfully. And I’m very protective of the supporting characters. Which means that whenever I’ve written about my family and I’ve put it out there…well, there’s always been a bit of ickiness associated with doing so. The line with what feels right and what feels wrong has always been a bit too thin for my liking. I’m fine with being judged. I’m even fine with a certain lack of privacy. But I’m not fine with the people I love most in the world not having theirs— and it being my fault.
Secondly, not only have I evolved… so has the audience. I see the search terms. The shift is in part due to the fact that when I started writing here I hadn’t yet published works of fiction—works which may or may not be congruent with my personal life— and/or the things I write about in this space. The two, at least for me, (fic and non-fic, real life and make believe) are very different animals— and it can be dangerous when those lines become blurred. It can also make it a tad bit difficult to be brave and truthful in your storytelling. Which is one reason I love writing fiction so much. There are fewer people to protect when sharing your brand of crazy. For the most part, it isn’t personal.
And the truth of the matter is that writing fiction (messy, messy fiction;) has always been the path I’ve intended to take. I like making things up. Which means that I need to be a little more careful about the (non-fic) stories I tell (on the interwebs) and whom I tell them about. It’s time I separate the two to a degree.
As for what that means for this space… I don’t yet know.
I only know that a change is coming… and that I’m beyond grateful for the lessons I’ve learned, for the ability to share those lessons, and for the changes that doing so has brought.