I think my last post was…well, it was some time ago. This is not an excuse for not writing…but since that last post I’ve dedicated a lot of hours reading other web postings, and have tried to find a happy medium between my own thoughts and…others. I’ve thought of it as gathering seeds. Of weeding through the rubble. What to talk about. What not to share. I wouldn’t want to give the combination to the lock that secures the storage unit, nor divulge my post office box location, but I would enjoy the admiration of My Reader. A twee bit of adulation would work, too.
What a challenge.
My Reader is very particular. Bores easily. Actually, My Reader is a boring narcissistic sod. Has a potty mouth. Likes to have the last word, but mostly always pays the bills on time. Having said that…I’ve almost convinced myself into believing that this sharing thing via posts or blogs is an inventor’s gigantic joke on those who take life as a serious condition. “And”, she whispered, “Those who don’t.”
Ripping the heart out of your chest and bleeding on yourself by telling all to more-than perfect strangers, or making snarly comments on or about whatever is in or out of social media..or media-media…is what? Could it be possible that others’ might enjoy that particular read you’ve just posted? Or. Not. ??? And…what to share if you have a particularly dry, crappy via scrappy off the beaten path sense of humour? Say you find yourself in left field? This is not in the figurative left field but… could be. My Reader would think this would be in the literal left field…albeit the fringes. One of the Oh, yes..I know that field but hide yourself on exceptional days but especially those Friday nights, weekends, holidays and pretty much all ways. In short: Don’t even go there.
My Reader knows that some writers are better game players. Better home-run hitters when it comes to connecting. The consummate crosser of i’s and dotter of t’s. The gravitational pull to those who seem to have something important to say and have a great need to have you listen…are what? Funnier? Funniest? Serious or serial? You know them and most likely want to be one: the Award Winner, The Honoured Medal Collector, The All-Expenses-Paid Recipient.
The Best Pie Baker.
Know what it feels like trying to get there? What it really feels like? Feels a bit like that old high school popularity contest. Inane yet so damned important. At the same time so blah-blah. So forgettable. Insane. You can’t possible count all the winners and all the collectors of honoured medals. Their numbers are too many and their names will be forgotten faster than their faces at that third year reunion. Bet on it.
Forget everything I’ve just said.
I want what they have.
Quick before I change my mind….
Sign me up.