To bleed words or to stem the flow, that is the question.
10:57 a.m.
It kind of reminds me of the year-end/Christmas letter we send out annually, something I end up composing even though other members of my family have offered to do it instead, and yet somehow I always get stuck with it. In that epistle (I love that word, it sounds so dirty) I attempt to recap the year on two or fewer pages (although last year�s went kind of long) with brevity and wit. I am not beyond making stuff up (ridiculous stuff that can be seen through immediately) in order to keep it light and entertaining; and yet, when my father died, I sent this instead, an essay that described him, his life and his legacy. This particular missive was the one that garnered the most compliments from its recipients. It makes me wonder if people wouldn�t rather not read about Suzie�s ballet recital and Billy�s science project.
Be that as it may, I know I went through a bit of a crisis after my first anniversary at Diaryland when I started noticing that my entries were following the seasons, the school year, and seemed to be repeats of things I had written before. I felt I was just recycling the same old stuff. It was you guys, my readers, who convinced me that I should persevere, that �audience� was important to consider and that newcomers to my diary hadn�t read previous entries which described my everyday life. Those were good words of advice, and I�ve taken them. Thank you.
But recently I feel as though I�m running out of ideas, or, more specifically, I have great ideas which evaporate the instant I sit down to type in the white box. I have a little notebook in my purse specifically for jotting down these little thunder claps when they happen, but more often than not they don�t get written and I end up forgetting; or I lie in bed at night, unable to sleep and think about diary entries I would like to post, only to forget them come morning.
Perhaps if I didn�t update as often I would be able to store up a wealth of words to spill out here. One of my favourite diaries is like that, the incomparable hissandtell leaves us thirsting at her font, teasing us with a week or two of silence, and then rewards us with beautifully-written, witty prose which never fails to entertain and, in some cases even, edify.
On the other hand, I absolutely adore this white box. I would fill it several times a day, for sure (as I did in the first flush of my infatuation with Diaryland) but I fear a glut, so to speak, and a corresponding boredom among my readership.
Which brings me to another point: For whom do I keep this diary? If it were for me alone, I would write in a paper journal, no one would read it (unless I somehow achieve fame [or infamy] and it becomes an important document after my death) and the world would be spared my tedious text. On the other hand, this is the internet, the world-wide web, where everyone and his great aunt Millie has access to anything that is not locked or encrypted (and my diary is neither), so there must be something of the exhibitionist about me that prompts me to expose my inner mind for perfect (and imperfect, since no one is truly �perfect�) strangers to peruse.
You know, that question at the beginning of this entry was only partially rhetorical. You are by no means obligated to answer it (especially if you think I won�t like what you have to say), but any insight shed on this matter by the people who actually log in day after day to catch my drift would be appreciated.
In advance, thanks; and in the famous words of the governor of California, �I�ll be back.�
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