Blogging didn’t feel right to me for a long time, I’ve had this one since very late 2008. I’ve edited and removed a lot of the content, I’ve often lost my way with it. When I started a new blog ( Berlin Domestic ) it felt different. They were both wordpress based sites – so mechanically they are the same – but something about setting up a page specifically for writing really got me going. I was dedicated to it, if I as away from it I thought about it. I experienced everything in my life at that time with the mindset that it would be documented on that blog.
When I started it I was already living away from Australia for a number of years. I was in the thick of an episode – post natal, post trauma, something something ) – I didn’t have much a sense of self. I was detached on a number of levels and if I am honest with myself I think at certain points it was the one and only thing that saved me.
But after returning to Australia and during the ( very long ) process of settling, it didn’t mean the same anymore. It didn’t feel the same – I didn’t feel the same about it. I kept going as it was something that I had been working on a long while by then, it got me introduced and read by some pretty amazing people, it got me a spot at the Emerging Writers Festival.
But then I started getting anxious about it at night, I’d worry about privacy. I’d worry about letting people in who didn’t deserve an in. Perhaps I should write something that is not so personal? But – that’s all I want to write. Sure, I could try out something else, like fiction – but I hardly read it yet alone have much of a desire to write it and then I’d be doing something for all the wrong reasons.
Also relationships began to change. People were really affected by the things that I wrote. Which at one point engaged and fuelled me but by this time I felt exposed, I felt misunderstood and I knew it was over. Between them and me, between the blog and me.
I felt that I found the words and developed the ideas that gave me my new sense of identity and I no longer needed – nor desired – the commentary. I also had never been able to – nor had I allowed myself to – live my life my way. Follow my path and if this was to be at the displeasure of others, than perhaps it is time to rethink the people who I have in my life.
I often think about writing and I’ve been waiting for it to all fall into place for me – writing wise – but it’s been a year and it still hasn’t come to me. I’ve been reading a lot, I’ve been reading about writing and writers writing about writing and I’ve read books written by people who weren’t really writers but wrote a book anyway. I think about the process of a book and become immediately daunted. I think perhaps I could write articles? But I don’t want to. Perhaps I could explore some shorter forms?
Perhaps I could just start a new blog? But I am not sure about that either. A poet at the festival last year curled his lip at me with my mentioning of blogging and had asked me if I edited. I think he thought it below real writing. I can understand this idea – there are a lot of terrible, terrible blogs out there, however I can’t understand being completely closed off to the possibility of any creative form – even if it is not your own. However it has stayed with me, probably because I knew my blog was coming to an end. Books are still the authority and this is in no way a bad thing.
Also the commentary aspect of blogs weighs heavy on my mind when I write. I think about people and how the things that I write could possibly be misinterpreted. I think about how old friends find me here and cry about my “releasing hate onto the internet” when I’ve written here about giving life and experiencing death and I’m like who even are you, how did you get in here. Perhaps it was my invitation. That is something I can’t have complete control over when making things, however there are ways it can be deterred and for my own peace of mind I must employ these.
I’ve learnt many important lessons with blogging that I don’t think I could have gained any other way in regard to writing. And perhaps what really is going on is that in many ways – I am still settling.