When I first started blogging several years ago, I did it as a fun experiment. Truthfully, I thought the idea of pouring out what was essentially my inner monologue for all the world, or one other person, to read was a bit presumptuous and narcissistic. Though, there was always the chance that someone might like it or someone might find it useful in getting bored to sleep at night. So, I gave it a go. And I loved it.
As I struggled with finding my purpose in life and becoming a new mother, I had a space in which I could be truly, authentically me. I didn’t have to worry about what my bosses, my partner, my family, my friends, or anyone would say because I kept my identity hidden. It was a huge release. And, most importantly, it kept me writing. Almost every day.
Then, I moved over to this platform and struggled with wondering if I should be taking my blog in a certain direction. It became less about me and more about ideas of what I thought it should be. It faltered. And then I made a horrible mistake. I blogged something intensely personal that wasn’t mine to share. What was mine to share was the subject of the blog, but I did an extremely poor job at protecting the identity of the other person involved and I hurt, likely deeply hurt, at least two people. That isn’t me or what I am about. I try to be compassionate and caring. I try to be one of those who lifts others up. But, I had let myself get to a place where I actually ground someone down for the purpose of writing a post I thought would be interesting to others as well as to me. Once I realized my motivations weren’t as pure as I had initially led myself to believe, I decided to take a blogging break and work on my novel. I wanted to be immersed in fiction because the ugly truth about myself was more than I wanted to face.
But, now I find that as I struggle to wrap up my novel, I have lost my way again. Or more specifically, my voice. The bulk of it is what I would want it to be, or close enough. But, as I try to get a handle on my main character, I find I have lost touch with ways to get there. Maybe it is my irregular writing schedule. Or, more likely, it is because I have let go of my one true connection to my own inner life. And if you can’t grasp your own inner life, how can you grasp another. So, I am back here, hoping to reconnect to writing on a daily basis and hoping to reclaim my voice, with minimal collateral damage. Another fun experiment in the offing.