I have a friend who I am trying to encourage to start a blog. I only know her professional writing, but I feel fairly certain that based on her personality and wit, she would write something really great. For some reason I am way more into this idea than her, I guess mostly because I see a desire in her to be creative and I wonder if her hesitation just needs a shot of confidence.
Anyway, at lunch a few weeks ago I was poking her about it, and she said she was thinking about it, but that if she did write a blog, the subject would be about being a mother and all of the funny, crazy, and horrible things that happen with her three children.
So, I asked, “Then why not do that?”
And she said, “Because I’m afraid that if I’m totally honest (which is what would make it interesting) that people would judge me; think I’m a terrible person. Especially my family.”
The conversation devolved into the unlikelihood of using a pseudonym and then fizzled from there.
Later on, I started thinking about my own writing. While I do edit myself and don’t post everything that’s on my mind, I also reveal more than I probably should. But…because, for me, the good stuff is always in the gory details, I can’t help myself. Not necessarily being conscious of what my readers might think of me. Or realizing that what I find amusing may be totally rotten and I am the only person laughing. Bashing the Olympics? That’s pretty sedate. Bashing children? Maybe that’s going too far. Bashing my grandmother? OK, I might as well light my own self on fire.
I always trust that the ones who know me won’t be horrified. That I am just whoring out my inner thoughts for the sake of entertainment (often only my own). And even in being real, it is all exaggerated for the same purpose.
I’ve fantasized about going incognito, but I wonder if that one strand that is tied to my identity is also tied to my decency. I think: yes.
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