I changed my old static website over to a WordPress-based site in June of last year. I made my first post on it, a meme, at the end of January of this year. It’s now mid-April. I have a pile of abandoned unposted bits, and a mid-composition post about my Eikedog that I’ll finish soon.
But I’m anxious in real life, and probably more so online. Nowadays you can be a lot more anonymous walking around in meatspace than you can be online, and I am not fond of going out (except when I am.)
One way to confront and get past the anxiety is just to get over myself and write stuff here. That’s a moebius strip of weirdness, of course. But I’m trying. I have this simultaneous inflated sense of self-worth and bucketfuls of self-doubt. This is awkward.
And blogging? So weird. I struggle with my feelings that I don’t want to add to the noise, the goddamn noise that is everywhere online. The noise I absorb, happily and on purpose, when I read this, that, and t’other on the internet. And I read so many blogs by brilliant writers with Important Things to Say that I just feel like a goofball because I prefer to talk about tea and music and dogs and the occasional success with my violets. I want to read the big critiques by academics and vocal genre writers, but not participate.
And I’m really, really private. Often I don’t want to divulge personal stuff, and often I don’t see the point in nattering about impersonal stuff.
On the other hand, my contribution to the noise isn’t noisy if no one chooses to read it, and if they do so choose, then I ought to have said something, even if it’s about violets.