It is hard to sit down to do this and not think of Doogie Howser or Lisa Simpson. But a computer journal that everyone gets to read? A public journal is an oxymoron to me. Besides which I don’t ever think I will get over the word Blog sounding like something the cat coughed up. If it sounds like I am trying to come up with reasons not to do this. . . I am.
My English Professor would tell me to write because I have something to say. Well anyone who knows me would tell you I ALWAYS have something to say. But is that a reason to write? What do I have to say that hasn’t been said? This is when my writing teacher would tell me that no one would say it the way I do. Ok. But who is going to care? This is the moment when all the critical voices in my head scramble to grab a seat in the critic’s chair.
The critic’s chair is an imaginary space in my head. When I picture it, it is a combination between an opulent throne and the captain’s chair on a star ship. It is lavish, comfortable, very high-tech and a place from which everything about me can be controlled down to the cellular level. There is a constant battle of pushing and shoving between the negative voices in my head to jockey for this coveted position. Who are these voices? Oh probably very similar to the ones in your head. Class bullies, various ex lovers, disapproving teachers, certain family members not the least of which. . . my mother. You get the idea.
Don’t get me wrong the critic’s chair is important. It keeps me in check, keeps my ego tame and makes me go over things with a fine tooth comb. But I must be careful who I allow to sit there and when. For a long time that was something I did not understand. The voice that came from that station, did so with my permission. It has taken several years to put this notion into practice.
At times I like my mother in that chair. At a dinner parties or important social events she reminds me to stand up straight and smile. She reminds me which fork to use. But at times like these she is not the person for that seat. She says things like, “Oh Honey, what are you getting all wound up about? Who is really going to care one way or the other?” Good question Mom. Answer? I am. I am going to care.
I have realized not only am I capable of seizing control of that chair, it is important that I do so. When it comes to any sort of creative project, no one is harder on me than me. So fine Mom, you can sit there on Sunday when we are having guests for dinner. But not now. I must admit I have found great joy in saying “Mother get up, you’re in my seat!”
So when I wake up in the middle of the night, as I have tonight and I cannot get back to sleep I begin to think of all the things I need to get done. Vacuuming? Perhaps I will keep that on the to do list till morning. Catch up on phone calls? Ummmmm no. There are of course several projects in various stages of completion that would be quiet activities to work on. Yet what do I keep hearing in the stillness of the wee hours? A euphemistic cat tucked way back in my psyche coughing up a hair ball, “Blog, Blog, Blog.”
I have a lot of writer friends, many of which have been encouraging me to BLOG. Why though? I have a journal. I have been journaling since I was 12. Maybe because I do have things to say and no one will say those things way I do. And because no one is reading my journals till after I am dead! And maybe because it is less about who is going to hear it and more about the courage to say it in the first place.
Wow I guess I did it! My first blog. This was far less painful or laborious than I had anticipated. But as is all too often the case, we spend far more time and energy finding excuses not to do something than the actual task would take. So tomorrow when I am distracted doing laundry and my mother sneaks into the critics chair to tell me I am folding the towels wrong. . . that will be fine. Because tonight the seat was all mine and it felt good.
After this, the seal is broken and the genie is out of the bottle. There are many more blogs to come I am sure.
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