Why did I stop blogging? I love blogging. It’s meant a lot to me. Been a great source of comfort and practical writing practice as well. I feel that upon entering a (snooty) post-secondary writing program I absorbed the elitist idea that a blog of this nature – a personal, ramble-esque site – was not suitable for someone desiring to be a professional writer. Like this was juvenile and overly emotional (too woman-y) and that as someone presumably pursuing high level literary writing, was too amateur.
No one outright said it but I knew there’d be snickers if I said I had a blog. In my adult life I’ve become someone who cares very much what others think. What a waste. I don’t know how it happened. It’s not me. As the saying goes, I give zero fucks. I’m learning to hoard my fucks once more. They’re not for you, fools!
So, writing. I’m writing fairly regularly otherwise, though. Ah, also, this blog required an assumption that somewhere out there was an audience who would value my work. I lost that as well. I’ve stopped feeling that people could connect to what I had to say. It’s amazing how poisonous educational institutions can be. Although it’s not so much that as being in the wrong crowd. Mindless pseudo-intellectuals, the modern scholars who can’t decipher an idea from a belch, an emotion from Tabasco induced heartburn. The Fools.
I’ve been working to wash myself of their ignorant tar, but I am covered in fingerprints. Slowly, I am cleansing myself. It is working. And I must remember, it is worth it. It’s too easy to lose ourselves, to forget even the most fervent fires within us, to let them become extinguished. A constant danger, and more so for those whose fires burn brighter, because they are a threat.
Okay, enough. I feel encouraged now. There’s something to simply sharing something, to letting it out. Cyberspace is strange and useful in this way.
A New Year, dear followers! New words. New life.