So I guess it's to be expected: a little crisis of faith. It's been 128 days, I think, and although there have been some smooth patches, and some useful entries, and I'm not going to stop, I'm not feeling the way I wish I were about this blog right now.
For one, it's just so hard to keep on track. It's so easy, when I'm tired, or overwhelmed in my actual (not virtual) life, or preoccupied, or ill, to want to write about something that I know will basically just take up space, and isn't useful to my writing life in any way, and isn't even the kind of writing about my personal life that I know is useful in a less obvious way. I know that I have said, and believe, that writing every day--just writing--regardless of the subject matter, is important for me, but on those days when I feel as though I'm really grasping, I also feel as though I am wasting time.
For another, I am often torn about my intentions here, or rather it can be hard to resist the temptation to write about my day, or something that is happening to me, because it would be wonderful to have a record of my days, the diary I've never been able to keep, a log of Lily and Annika at various stages of growth. But I know that this is not the kind of blog I want to write for a million reasons, and after reading the article in the New York Times magazine this past weekend about people who do keep that kind of blog, I fear that on occasion I have veered too far in that direction.
In spite of this fear, though, I try so hard not to simply vent about personal matters that it sometimes feels dishonest--the way I will sit here writing about something as a writer while something else is happening to me as a person that I cannot, will not write about. Or maybe not dishonest but exhausting. And then I always think about every bad experience I have ever had trying to convey my subject to my audience: the graduate seminar in which my classmates all agreed that the picture I painted of my childhood was unrealistically idyllic whenever I wrote about my sister and my cousins, and the book I wrote about tics and compulsions that paints a one-sided picture of a girl who is nothing like me, and the book I wrote in which I thought I was paying homage to my sister, who was later justifiably resentful of this co-opting of her persona in print. It's so impossible to capture everything, and so essential to try, that sometimes it just makes me want to scream.
What I'm getting at is that I can't help asking myself, almost every day, why I am doing this and what picture am I painting in a larger sense for someone who is reading this every day, and how even the sum of the entries--all 128 of them--is such a tiny, one-sided sliver of who I am and what I write, or want to. And there is no answer, no solution: if I want to keep writing every day, which I do, I have no choice; it is the sliver or nothing at all, because I would not do this if I were not doing it for you, although I know I am also doing it for myself.
Wow. I am glad I am not grading this particular entry, which will I guess show for posterity my rambling, amorphous sense of blogging anxiety if nothing else--no coy hints at my non blog existence, although I wonder how much, if anything, can be read between the lines.
In one of my first entries I resisted the temptation to delete something embarrassing; I can't even remember what it was. And now, I can't remember why--if this is a writing blog, then I should be allowed to edit, when I have the time or inclination; there is no inherent value in rawness of that kind. But I will resist the temptation now, as well, and to be honest, I'm not even sure why.
I will end with a quote that I have at my desk, so I can read it each day, that is relevant here, as always for me. Ralph Waldo Emerson, whose words have guided me through many a day, wrote, "Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day. You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.
Tomorrow: no nonsense. I promise. Ha!
12 comments:
Of course your 128 entrees demonstrate a mere sliver of yourself. You however, are gifted with the ability to pick out the perfect sliver. It’s the sparks of nuance that you pluck from your day and describe in unique detail that make me anticipate the next post. You have a way of magnifying the ordinary and translating it to a language that surprises. I have laughed out loud many times reading your blog. I have also cried. As old Ralph suggests, take this crisis of faith and tuck it away. Writers write for themselves as well as their audience. Your audience is satisfied, but you, I think, are your own proverbial “harsh critic.” This is probably why you are so good, but may not do much for your stress level. Perhaps your other readers would agree when I say the following. Wake up tomorrow and know this. We are not judging you. We are empathizing with you, appreciating your challenge and your talent, and above all, enjoying the entire exercise.
You should spend some time and maybe the next few blog posts figuring out what it is that you want from this blog. I think you're being a little lazy -- work at your goals, don't just write mindlessly. It's never been clear to me beyond the exercise of writing every day what your goals here are. Work at it and figure them out. Once you determine what you want the blog to be, the writing wil come easier because you'll know what fits. This is not to say that you can't bend the rules sometimes and include a Lily/Annika story. You've said that you don't want this to be a parenting blog, but you have many many posts about your daughters and the constant sacrifices you have made for them. They are often charming anecdotes and I enjoy readig them, but if that's not what you want, don't waste so much effort on them. Alternatively, if that is what you want (and I see no reason why it shouldn't be) embrace it.
"Lazy" is a little harsh, fellow anonymous commenter. But I do agree that Amy would feel better about this exercise if the point of it were more clearly defined. I would also add that the best writing blogs (not political or scientific blogs, mind you) are personal. I enjoy Amy's personal posts much more than the theoretical "wrap everything up in a nice bow" world view posts.
It's hard to stick to something and I think it's commendable to try. Sometimes people need a carrot rather than a stick to keep going.
I read the NYT magazine piece too and for the record, your blog isn't remotely like that. You don't have that Gawker-edge to your writing. You are well-intentioned and kind and your humor is not acerbic.
More about dissimilarity between you and Emily Gould - there's never even been a passing mention of your husband in this blog, has there? I don't know you but I assume that Lily and Annika's dad is in the picture? I assume you don't mention him because you respect his privacy. I just don't see oversharing as one of your online faults.
I think you should spend 3 days a week writing about the cuties and 3 days a week writing the type or style of writing you want to perfect. Once a week you can ramble. I love reading about your girls because you have a knack for picking out small moments and making me feel I was there and that is fantastic writing. Keep at it, sometimes it takes us time to figure out what we want and need in the world and our work. And if the world judges us, that is their problem.
I can't be critical and helpful right now the way these people are. I have just caught up after not reading your blog for a while. I love it. I love this blog, I love your voice, and I love hearing someone express sentiments that make perfect sense to me either because I am like you or maybe because there is something universally comforting and appealing about your writing. I am like the 14-year old's teacher who can only give an A plus, though we both know I rarely give As in real life. Furthermore, I'm with Liza. Your audience is satisfied.
I'd like to second that last comment... I look forward to reading your blog every morning (missed yesterday as I was sick) and am pretty much happy to read about whatever you choose to write about. I like your voice and your sincerity and while I don't always agree with everything you write, the disagreements never fail to make me think. Keep up the good work!
Forgive me for going on about this-- I am aware that I often miss the greater point and I don’t know how clearly I articulate my own. But I thought the goal was to be writing. My impression from the beginning of this blog is that you hadn’t been writing as much and that this blog was a way to force the issue.
The title is “Seven Hundred and Fifty Words.” You didn’t promise what kind of words and I don’t think you have to. Maybe you believe that in order to be effective, your posts need to have a specific focus, (“Seven Hundred and Fifty words about Characters on the Subway” or “Seven Hundred and Fifty Words about my Political Convictions”) but instead, what comes out, daily, is what you are compelled to write. Possibly you thought that you’d spend the blog sketching out ideas and topics for more directed writing but find what flows so beautifully from you are these other snippets of life? Perhaps, it’s like when you start writing something with a definite idea in mind, but as you write your piece takes a life of its own, ultimately becoming totally different than what you planned—but far better then the original idea?
You make it clear that this blog is not your only writing, and I have to assume your other writing has definition. But I interpreted this as an effort to practice your craft. So, does it matter if some days you use it to flesh out your more formal projects and other days to write about Lily, or Annika, or your grandmother, or the anti-Bush cap, or a comment on the subway that compelled you to purchase a lint-brush? As I said yesterday basically, you pick small kernels from life and pop them into something wonderful. So, if you are writing regularly and the writing is good, can’t that be enough?
And, just one more thought. Is it possible that it's the seven days a week requirement that has become the challenge? After all, rumor has it that on the seventh day, even God rested...
Liza, thank you; this really reassured me as to my original intent and the larger picture. I am so, so grateful for this reminder; I couldn't figure out how to say this to myself. But as for the seven days a week, I know myself too well. If this is like writing exercise, I need to make myself do it every day. It's a very slippery slope for me.
may I weigh in belatedly and basically just second everything Liza says above? especially the very apt kernel-popping business. I also get your dissatisfaction with some of your exercises here but that kind of dissatisfaction comes with the territory of being a writer, and it can prod you on to more and better things. I think so much of what you have done here has been so very, very good; incredibly moving and also funny, and just very satisfying to read, as I think another commenter said above. I think it's good to prod yourself. I also think it's good to take satisfaction in doing things well, writing things well, even if they don't feel as "important" or statement-y as they "should." there is something to be said for being able to write really well and "relate-ably" about intimate everyday life. I usually enjoy those writings here the most. The NYT story is indeed a cautionary tale, but not for you. You are not retailing dirty laundry here for hundreds, thousands to read. You're doing something very different. I do think it's OK to try different things out here, and also to just go to bed when you need to and have an Emersonian new day on the morrow. Just keep going, one way or another. It's working.
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