So Long... But not Goodbye..

I know, it's been two months since my last confession - I am rubbish at consistency.In fact, it bores me silly having a routine and I've probably suffered more than any living creature because of it. I do need to write more if I ever want to do it for a living and more importantly, I really adore writing, it's actually one of my true indulgences. Mind you, I haven't been totally away from blogs (fucking everyone has one now) plus I've discovered Twitter - as you can see on the left of this page. Even though it's challenging for a gasbag like moi, I'm becoming rather adept at articulating myself in under 140 characters. If you love Facebook, fine, but I really do recommend Twitter if you are voyeuristic or a information Junkie like myself. In fact if you are a fan of this blog, it would probably be easier to follow myself on Twitter because I seem to update that quite a lot. Mind you - I'm trying to keep it real so some of my tweets are for mature adult minds, if there is such a thing. When I'm not getting my hollywood gossip, fresh off the grill, I love following interesting people and reading the variety of thoughts, the cyber version of "people watching". Even though the interface is simple and easy to use (sometimes I think it;s a little too simple for my geek girl tastes) you can choose to make your tweets public or private. For the time being, (my twitter id is bigbugger ) I'm public and by all means, please suggest anyone I could add to my following list by putting their ID in the comments.

The most challenging part of blogging for me is that I don't like the sound of my writer's voice right now, it's too... exact. Right now, I'm about to start a childcare course, I'm taking time out (I'm calling it a social sabbatical) I struggle to keep my giant house clean, there are more child custody cases to be heard in the Family Court, I'm still heads over heels in love and I'm also still stable on methadone and effexor and xyprexa (what a cocktail.) Point being, there are good bits to my life and their are really shitful bits that would take ages, no years, to explain. If I said I was blissfully happy (I would be lying) but if I said I was bitterly depressed (I would be exaggerating) So I guess I'm somewhere in between, a little patch of green surrounded by wild thumping seas.

Just writing this post brings alarming thoughts into play - no emotional nuance can be captured completely by my smallish vocabulary lately and I think reading excellent books has only inflamed my inability. How do they come up with all those exact words, I wonder? I know, I know, it's just a blog right? But it's really hard to write crap (but just watch me do it now) if you ache, yearn and want to be a better writer because the sentences just won't swing into shape, just half thoughts dancing through the empty mind.

I just want to slam a fist into my head in frustration, as if that could unglue the mass of words stuck in there instead of them waltzing out like they used to. Ugh, it's never a good thing to hear the words " used to" in a sentence. You used to be so pretty or You used to love the way I wore my hair, I can feel the hopeless drain the colour of the words. I feel like such a bad writer at the moment (just let me get it out because I'm hoping that this will change things) that I know it's going to take reams and reams of absolute crap before I wear down my defenses and write completely from some naked, raw part of me. So, forgive me for being odd and talking like a stiff matron from the 1950's, my only explanation is that I'm simply out of practise (I hope.) I've contemplated throwing away the dreams of writing my book but whenever I prepare to do so, I become superbly frustrated and need to write instantly. The thing that truly baffles me is why I don't make enough time to practise writing, seeing that it is both needed and rather enjoyable? I've read some books on the subject of writing recently and they all seem to say the same thing - find a place alone, with a door that you can do the writing. Then write. Write out all of the bad , stilted garbage and hopefully something will crack and you will find your voice, some kind of miracle I'm starting to think! My voice keeps changing, right after I read an excellent book, I find myself writing like that person (Stephen King actually writes about this in his excellent writing memoir "Learning The Craft") apparently this is a totally normal phase of developing into a writer but I can't shake the feeling that I'm just not settled into my own style nor do I like how it sounds enough to keep it.

You know what? I think I have fallen out of the ability to write and that scares me more than anything in the world. However, I do admit that it also challenges me to get up off my arse and do something about it. Hence, we have a blog post today. I know it sounds nerdy and self-absorbed to obsess about it, but to me writing is such a birthing process, that I must love and cherish the words that are born from me but lately I have felt like drowning them in a bucket full of turpentine. I know readers don't expect genius but I do know that their time is precious, and I feel overwhelmed at times with the impervious task of making those ten minutes matter.
Somedays, I barely make sense to myself and the thought of writing in the midst of a manic spell is scary - who knows what I could say or who I would offend. And I know it's like a broken record, but I can't help the feeling that people I know but don't particular admire, are getting their Voyeuristic fix and reading my personal thoughts , smug in the fact that I'll never know they actually give a shit about me or my randomly assembled thoughts. Paranoid much?

For years, I have thought I am writing for the people who are reading rather than writing for myself. I just can't write everything that I think or we would be here for days and you would be very bored indeed. But this weekend I have decided that I need to make time to write, it's not going to fall from the sky and settle into my lap - as much as I'd like it to! Case in point; I have been interrupted six times trying to write this post, and three times this weekend have I had to field requests to do social things, which would probably be fun, but wouldn't help me be a better writer. I need to get serious about writing before anyone can be serious about my writing.

I used to think that blogging would be a daily thing, that would work itself out. I admired the greats of blogging and wished with all my blogging heart I could be like them. I still do (sometimes and only the really brilliant ones) But I have come to a harsh realisation recently.

I simply don't give a shit about "my life" as a multimedia experience. Some of it, is probably modesty - I think there is a thing of sharing too much information these days. But mostly, I can't seem to blog every thought and experience without wanting to give myself a very hard slap. Maybe it's a confidence issue, I might not have the self -esteem to be a die hard blogger like Raymi. Don't get me wrong - I love her style and her dedication and I'm thrilled to see her site evolve and it looks the best it ever has and all that shit - but I pick Raymi because I've talked to her a couple of times on msn and it's very nerve wracking to try and entertain Raymi "live" when you have probed into her life for the past five years, sitting in your underpants eating Cheetos. It's all well and good when it's a one way relationship. But you see, I just don't get off on that. I feel that no matter how awesome your life is because of your blog, you're still obligated to the thing and how many times can you go to bars, get drunk and make fun of taxi drivers ? I just want to ask her - do you ever get sick of your Raymi brand? But that seems rude, but I mean it honestly. Some of her deeper writing is brilliant but she doesn't do it very often, maybe that is because a blog needs to be light, a reader "snack" - something I am also not good at doing. Raymi on the other hand, has made it an art form and I think she is very passionate about ... Raymi. I guess sometimes I feel there is so much more to the story that we will never know and I wonder why we don't get that a lot in the popular blogs that I read. They are all starting to get very commercial about.. themselves. Where is the risk, the revelations on a personal level and where is the emotion ? I feel like an idiot sharing my inner most thoughts when Parez Hilton makes millions of dollars doodling cum drips from Miley Cyrus's crotch.

Sooner or later, blogging is going to get old - even to loyals like Raymi. I can't help but shudder to think if she is still going to be blogging about kids, menopause and being called grandma - I mean how long do we do blog ? Are we all going to be reporting our ironies and rants until our fingers are bent with arthritis. Maddox at sixty? Jason Mulgrew when he is forty-five, bald and twice married, three kids. Depressing!

I often wonder whether Raymi minds certain things in her life being no longer private ( after all, she has only shared with us the parts of her life that she wants to share) but I can't help but feel encouraged by her to be a part to her life, her house, her cat Cid and her fiancee, well - because she is so dedicated to documenting it. It's kind of I'm sure most fans agree that if anyone deserves a book deal or "celebrity" status then she does but somehow I get the feeling that if that was going to happen, she would have made it happen by now so I get the feeling that being the "hot girl who takes lots of photos of herself dancing or on the toilet" is enough for her. But if I had been blogging every day for eight or so years, I'd start to wonder how much living is being done. I mean at some point you have do things like no one is watching - right?

Does blogging count as writing? I recently read Jason Mulgrew celebrated FIVE years of blogging and his blog is one of the free laughs I get in this world, but I cannot help but think (with a failed tv show and stalled book deals) that even he got sick of blogging about himself.
By the way he has wrote the equivalent of 13.5 books by blogging and his book is due out in 2010 - and none of the book overlaps with the blog. So, I guess it doesn't count after all.

So just so we have an understanding, I'm probably going to focus on my writing (real writing) and you may not hear from me for a while. Because every time I blog, I commend myself for writing but I really don't think this is what's going to bring my goals into fruition. I'm on twitter and I'm on face book. I use those to social chatter and the blog, has slipped down the list considerably. Right now, my priority is tidying up my memoirs and getting my auto bio manuscript done and dusted. I'm locking myself away for a season and I'm sure as hell going to finish this mongrel. I love writing but I think blogging is not where it is at for me at the moment, and I hope you all understand. I hate doing things by halves and I hate breaking promises. This isn't isnt goodbye though, my story is just beginning. This is just so long for now, you have been great, so very loyal and true and I really do love your comments and your thoughts. I assure you that every email and comment is read. I just cannot give this blog the time it deserves - so I'm never going to be a franchise I'm afraid. I'll never see my catchphrases screen printed over t-shirts. I just not that into "me" . And it worries me, lol, it really seems the only way to "make it" anymore. But you will hear about my book here, because it's more a labour of love that I have to get done and the longer I put it off - the harder it is to recall. I may only publish a dozen or three but it will be self published if need be! Life is going really great for me now and I'll be sure to pop in and tell you all about my journey in a few months time. It's time to get serious!!

I'll miss you (but this isn't goodbye!)
Heroine/Girl
xxxx


http://twitter.com/reneeisrad





P.s I kept waiting for the "Magical Blog Fairy" to wave her wand over my life and make me more interested in meticulously giving a fuck about everything I do (eat, see, think, drink, laugh at, surf at.) Hell, I wish I could even be assed enough to hook up my god damn camera, nevermind take photos of me dancing in the rain or pictures of the food I ate in resturants (can't they just remember it - I mean do we really need to see it if we're not the ones eating it?) Then again, I'm glad Raymi and the other seven million bloggers do bother with it all.. because lazy shmucks like me can read her site and be entertained for a while, that's nice. However, I can't help but wonder - is this blog about her life or is her life all about a blog? Just saying. < class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_61">Tui, so delicate and delicious to read, seriously the only complaint I ever have about her writing is that there isn't enough of it. I always leave wishing I could have read more, and I seriously would buy any book she ever published - hands down. Sometimes I just read entries over and over again because I honestly get the feeling that Tui has no idea how brilliant she is at writing. That's the killer punch. She is such a natural writer, equal parts bright and dark and even though the posts are few and far between, it somehow punctuates her lonely story with a real sense of longing, you only get to grasp her for a moment before she slips away, fading like a dandelion blowing into winter sleet. ih

So, for a long time, I have dwindled in the area of blogging, because there only seems to be two kinds of bloggers - brilliant and not so brillant. I'm sure I'm somewhere near the middle but that suits me just fine - for reals.