Life of Wry

Ok, here’s the thing.  I’ve been conscientiously and dutifully writing here at the Life of Wry since January 1.  I’d set this goal for myself to write daily, and I have.  Every. Single. Day.  There was purpose in the madness: As it says over there in the right margin, daily blogging was intended to provide a platform for experimentation.  Committing to a daily practice was supposed to help me develop some kind of writer’s muscle memory, or discipline, or focus.. really, all of that.  Of course it would.  I mean, obviously.

So, with the exception of the time back in April, when I was deep in the remote mountains of the Himalayas, I have not missed a day.  And those 24 missing April days? I’m backfilling them; they comprise my Nepal trip blog.  Day by day, as time allows, I’m writing these very long and detailed accounts of one of the more spectacular three weeks of my life.  So, yeah, it’s taking a little while, but it is coming along.

The point is, I’m doing what I’ve been wanting to do for a long, long time… I’m writing. And by the end of the year, I’ll have accomplished the goal I set out to accomplish: blog every day for a year.

But here’s the problem.  As of today, I’ve been at it for eight months.. two thirds of the year… and I have to say, I’m not that pleased with the result.  It was supposed to be a creative process, but hasn’t become that.  Because I’ve chosen to post a daily photo, and to use that as a writing prompt, my writing’s become more commentary-like.  I end up writing about how I spend my days, which, you know, is really just a glorified journal. **

Writing daily is training.  But it’s also easy and pretty unchallenging the way I’m doing it.   I wanted my blog to be a creative canvas.  But… not to diss myself.. it’s not that creative.

Another issue:  my audience.  It’s small (if you can believe the stats, it’s no more than a few dozen a day, if that) and varied.  I think I have a good handle on who reads it, and it’s quite a mix–people from very different parts of my life, some close, some not. Certainly a mixed political bag.  So… I filter.  I censor myself.  I dumb myself down or smart myself up, depending.   I find myself staying in my tactful place, careful, making an effort not to offend.

All of that is so dumb I can’t bear it.  It’s like the person who goes to a therapist and doesn’t open up because they don’t want to look bad.

I wanted to find my voice, but instead, I’m keeping it safe, not taking any risks.

Jim asks, who are you writing it for?  

I say for me.  But if it were just for me, I’d be swearing like a sailor and be far less concerned about what others think.  In real life, I do swear like a sailor, but I am also concerned about what others think.  I’m not sure I want people to know how foul a mouth I have, or how intolerant I am of stupid people.  I can be very judgmental. And angry.  Oh, and unwise.

And see?… just copping to that has me teetering over the delete key.    (Yeah, like you don’t already know that about me, right?)  To the extent I’m working to improve my human skills in real life (right? good?), so goes my writing down a boring path.  It’s been declawed.

It’s not entirely a fear of revealing my authentic self (as they say in this modern world full of bloggers ready to let it rip).. I can be convinced that it’s ok to be real.  After all, didn’t I recently say, somewhere, how much I love this Dr. Seuss quote?

Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.   

But, I’m also not challenging myself, and instead just doing what comes easily.  I think part of that is time.  It takes time to write. It’s easy to do what I’m doing here… but harder to find the time to really dig deep and craft something.  My world is pretty simple these days, intentionally so, with real time allocated to write, but there are many other things, equally important (or, you know, more important), that take up time.  I wrote about that here.

I want to, I want to work it out, no matter how ugly, risky, or hard.  I mean, if you want to be a writer, what else matters?

Anyway.

It’s ok.  I’ll pat myself on the back for sticking with it this long.. 240 days so far.  Maybe I do rock!   And maybe this is part of the lesson…perhaps this is what daily writing teaches–that it’s not enough to write.  You have to WRITE.

Sooo…   for the last third of the year, I’ll probably continue to do more of the same, but maybe commit to cranking it up on at least a few occasions.

We’ll see.

**  I chose a picture that doesn’t lend itself to a little daily ramble of my activities.  It’s a bench.  That’s it.