Creep

Thanks to those of you who commented or emailed me. I appreciate your kind, thoughtful words. I spent two days considering what platform to use for the new blog before it hit me. This blog, with the invitation only setting, is the place where I can write what I want – when and how, without upsetting anyone. (Which means I won’t be adding this content to WordPress.)

So there I will remain. When/If I decide to make that blog public again, I’ll revert the possibly offensive posts back to drafts and all will be right with the world. Or something like that.

Not writing has been so stifling that I fear that the next few weeks of words will be a deluge. Blogging was once my lifeline. That sounds dramatic but I can’t even describe what I gained from putting my words together and hitting publish back in the days when I was home alone, unemployed and wondering how my life had reached that point.

My writing slowed when I got a job and it became apparent that blogging could be a liability there and, to make matters worse, my brain reached a calm, flat place as a result of anti-depressants that did what they were supposed to do if not fucking feeling anything was their purpose.

And then things went twenty different kinds of wrong and I was too ashamed to write about things with the emotional honesty I’d once tried to maintain. The combination of internal and external shame made it progressively harder to write and the longer I went without writing, the more difficult it became to start again.

So about that idea of pretending we don’t know each other? Scratch that. But be prepared to not like me, if you ever did, because some of the things I’m going to write about will probably make you question my character. It’s something I’ve done quite a bit of over the last two years and I would be surprised if you don’t have the same reactions I’ve had to my antics. In fact, I’d question your character if you weren’t questioning mine.

So now that I’ve hung us on that hook, deep breath…….

I’m an arrow in a bow

I once found solace in writing. Even when I was penning my most ridiculous posts, I felt a sense of peace. Now writing is a source of discomfort. It’s a reminder that what once fueled my words is gone-ish and how things have changed and how the very act of writing itself has become a source of mild conflict and shame.

Life is so different now. The people (Mathman and the children) and cats, I once relied upon for material aren’t part of my daily life. Being a mostly solitary creature leaves me with little to write about. I’m so bored with myself I can’t stir up enough mental dust to pound the keys.

Hang on a minute. That’s a lie. A dirty, rotten lie.

The truth is life is ridiculously interesting and churning these days. So why am I not writing?

For one thing, I’m out of the habit. Recognizing that precious few people really give a fig about the minutia of my life, I still miss the habit of sitting down every day and trying to find something meaningful or funny to write about. I am so out of the habit that I finished the previous sentence with a preposition.

The second reason is because the cast of characters has changed and some of them are strongly opposed to being part of this blog. I can’t say I blame them. We can all agree that I use my writing as a weapon from time to time.

The third reason is that more people who know me outside of writing come here now. The anonymity I once felt has disappeared, and I find myself quite reluctant to go out on the limbs from whence I once swung. (Look ma! No sentence-ending preposition!)

Here are my options as I see them:

1.Write anonymously and express myself however I want about whatever I want.

2. Write the way I always have and hope that the new characters get used to being captured here like moths on a straight pins.

3. Learn how to be more creative and stop drawing so much from life and spend more time writing fiction.

That last one, while appealing, isn’t really possible. Blogging has always been, for me, a sort of journal keeping. I’m not sure I want to abandon that kind of writing.

I’m leaning toward writing anonymously so that I can do what I need to do with my writing. I’ve always used it as cheap therapy and goodness knows I could use much more of that now. (See above about the churning.)

Actually, there is a fourth option. I can continue to draw from life and write in a way that is both creative and at least somewhat sensitive to the people in my life. This sounds good, too, but it will lead to so much more not writing so no.

I’m going to write anonymously for a while. It’s what I need because life is about to change again and I’m going to be even more solitary than I was before. There will be days when writing is the only contact I have with the outside world. Not that that is an all around bad thing.

If you want to find me, please email me at lisahgolden@gmail.com and I will send you the link to the new place where I’ll be writing.

I’m also going to keep this blog and may post here, too, but for now, let’s pretend we don’t now each other, shall we?

Thanks to all of you who have been here to read and to share in the goofiness. You’re all gems.

Here’s to new old things.

xoxo

Lisa