Culture and writers groups suggest that keeping a blog is essential in order to succeed in the jungle of publishing and having a platform for your book. I rebel, I struggle. I don't write for the public. I write for myself and to a few excellent friends.
I abhor what Facebook and Twitter are doing to communication and the image of friends or potential friends who have become addicted to them, has eroded my good feelings towards them, because I have seen aspects of their lives that I had not seen before those quick-feeling and vastly-exposing communication media.
I see others who manage to stay discreet and interesting, but they only show the best of themselves or their intellectual faculties, as if they were public saints with no flaws.
And here I am, compelled to write a blog about myself, without wanting to talk about myself. Nor wanting to be fast and superficial. Nor secretly wishing to deceive by filtering information as if I only had brilliant things to say.
The complexity and depth of life are too rich, too precious. I succeed and fail everyday, several times a day. I exercise too little, I read too randomly, I don't clean my house as I wish/should, I don't engage in the final draft of my book, I allow the TV to be on too long, I don't write those long letters I need to write, I don't post anything new in this blog... I do good things too, but those are mainly for my own integrity and the people and kittens who live with me, and those friends who devotedly stay in touch with me somehow.
A new beginning, so public, so exposed. A commitment to share, to test, to fail or accomplish.
Thinking of you, always.
