I can't get started with you

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A few weeks ago, my friend Laura left a comment on my Facebook page asking, "Whatever happened to that blog you used to write? The one with the typewriter?"

And I sighed. I gave up on it, I wanted to tell her. Writing about my daily life seemed so trivial, self-involved and about a thousand other synonyms so I stopped.

But, I thought, maybe if someone I've never met in real life, only share a connection with through music and is halfway around the world from me likes what I write about...maybe I should do it again.

So here I am. To write about myself. And I don't understand why I make this so hard because it isn't hard at all. I've been blogging for more than 12 years, on and off, and it use to be my release to sit down at the end of the day, compose my thoughts or share a story and then head off to bed.

I miss that.

And for god's sake, this is what I do for a living - I write. Why can't I do it for myself?

So in an effort to jump start my writing, here's a list of the top three reasons why I make blogging too difficult. Maybe if I write it down, I'll get over it all:

I worry too much about the impact my words will have.
And they do have an impact. I've posted a link to this little space on Twitter and Facebook a few times...so I'm not really sure what eyes might wander across the page anymore. I don't write any scathing entries. That's not my style...but I've been at the communication game long enough to know what I write and what a reader perceives doesn't always match up. People don't take you at your word, they read whatever they want into a sentence...and then tend to want to talk to you about what that meant at the worst possible times. So I'll say this now: I don't play the smoke and mirrors game. What you read is what you get. Period. End of sentence.

I made it become a challenge more than a release.
Instead of just sitting down and typing whatever, I felt an obligation to write something of importance. Something meaningful. But blogs, especially personal blogs, aren't really for that kind of writing all the time, are they? This has been a challenge with my music blog as well...one that I am slowly overcoming. I think sometimes I'm a little too old school journalism to write "nothing" entries and think they suffice.

I felt like what I have to say didn't matter.
Does the Internet really need another blog written by a stereotypical suburban girl about her typical life? Eh. I've never written blogs for the sole purpose of attracting an audience, but I've also tricked myself into the "Why would you bother writing about that? No one cares what you think" mindset one too many times. At some point there needs to be a happy medium. That begins here, today.

On writing...

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I start. I stop. I stare at the semi-blank computer screen and think for ten minutes straight. I read and re-read what I've written. I read it out loud. One sentence isn't perfect. I know I can do better, so I spent the next 20 minutes finding the words trapped inside my head. I listen to music constantly for inspiration. I endlessly jot down obvious notes and random thoughts in my writing journal.

Welcome to the last few days of my life. And the crazy part? Tonight as I was working, I realized I'm nowhere even CLOSE to actually writing anything real yet. I'm still working out characters, relationships, story lines...I know a lot, but it's a lot of peripheral details that don't lead anywhere. Once I have all those worked out, then this story that's been swirling around my head for years will finally have the chance to get out.

But even though there's so much work to be done, I cannot wait for it. I already desperately want to fade away into this world I'm creating inside my head and on journal pages. It's reality amplified - exactly as it should be.

Permission to dream

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Dear M,

You're scared. And I get that. It's terrifying being on the verge of doing something you've dreamed about for years not knowing if you'll make it through; if you'll find the right words; if anyone will even care when it's all said and done.

So do something for me. Make a list of all those doubts. Put them down on paper. Let ink bleed from pen like blood gushing from a vein. Get it all out of your system and once it's out, let those doubts stay on that piece of paper because you don't need them. Rip it up. Burn it. Tuck it away in a secret spot.

Then, give yourself permission to dream.

The Year of the Devil Wears Prada

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Dear M,

Today is the last day of your job, and I think it's important to write you this letter so you don't forget some things you've learned over the past year. You have a tendency to walk away from something, then romanticize the good aspects later and wonder why you ever left. In case you ever forget, I thought I might remind you with this letter before your memory becomes hazy.

When you found this position, it read like a dream job. It was perfect in every way - and who actually lands a job on the spot at their first interview with a company? It's okay to remember the elation and relief brought by being offered a job back in your beloved field of print. But remember, too, how quickly that perfection turned into your year of living through "The Devil Wears Prada."

Sisterhood...

Myself & some of the lovely ladies I consider my 'sisters'
at my Halloweenie Roast Masquerade.

My work life has been less than rosy lately. I work with mostly women who are so completely different than me in every way, shape and form imaginable. They're skinny and polished with perfect hair and make-up. They don't mind making fun of people over lunch on Fridays, read chick lit obsessively, and they think people like Katy Perry and Lady Gaga are the be-all, end-all of music.

I've always been a curvy girl with glasses. I'm not perfect, but if I don't have something nice to say I generally keep my mouth shut. I listen to bands most of these girls have never heard of and read nonfiction book on topics like the Columbine shootings and the founding of Rolling Stone magazine to educate myself on topics I'm interested in.

To say I don't really fit in is an understatement at this point. And lately, the gap between 'me and them' seems to grow wider. On top of it all, instead of feeling like we're all working towards one common goal, I constantly feel like I'm working with people who are scared you're trying to steal their success rather than help them be successful - a viewpoint I just don't understand. No matter what I do, I cannot seem to please them.

And it's slowly killing me - which is why tonight was such a blessing.