The silence is deafening here.
I have been a negligent blogger of late, I must confess. So sorry to those of you who took time to click this way only to find nothing new.
Not that there’s a dearth of interesting activity in my life these days. Quite the contrary, actually – it’s just that I can’t seem to carve out time to mull over my life’s events in a way that concludes in a written piece. Even my offline journal hasn’t seen a new entry for quite some time. There are tall weeds in my writing garden from my lack of tending.
But surely I cannot be faulted for not trying. Several times I have taken a deep breath and tapped away on the keyboard in hopes of cajoling to life a post that’s meaningful or just even plain understandable. Sure, I could have posted these half-works nonetheless; but I simply couldn’t bear the thought of boring my readers (no matter how few they are) or wasting their precious Internet time.
Now this brings me to a realization: although this blog was birthed several years ago as primarily a venue for self-expression and writerly release, with little thought given to structure, style, or substance, I must admit that I have since become very much aware and self-conscious about being read, much to the detriment of spontaneous, revealing, and raw writing. (That’s a long sentence, but I will resist editing…)
I haven’t decided yet if that is good or bad. Surely, as in most things, there are pros and cons to it. But it is too late in the night to dichotomize when in fact my objective for writing this post was to simply break the dry spell.
And I think I’ve been quite successful.
Is it safe to open my eyes now? Has the monster that is Writer’s Block finally left my room?