One of my daughters showed me a picture that said something to the effect of "Remind me not to talk so much around someone who has a blog". She commented that was the "story of her life." I laughed and asked if she had been blogged about and she said, "Well no, but YOU blog."
Oh yeah, I forgot about that.
I have had some interesting conversations regarding my writing in the last few weeks. When someone compliments my writing, I try to be gracious and thank them. If they have a particular question I try my best to answer it. If they criticize I try to take it with a grain of salt, when really it feels like salt in a wound.
I have had my words recited back to me as a result of some stupid thing I did. Faced with my own wisdom not heeded my reaction is usually, "Did I write that?"
Intentionally I leave out names, dates, or other revealing pieces of information, not so much to protect myself, or even a person, but so that my point can get across, and someone not be hung up on a gossipy bit of information.
Most of the time if I am writing about a certain person they know it. Other times I am baffled that they do not know it was written about them.
This leads me to wonder exactly how much information I am divulging when I write? Should I include more? Less?
When I began this blog (under its previous name) I stated clearly that you will not learn how to cook from it, or how to lose 40lbs in 3 days, it will not be picked up or made into a movie, or even God forbid a sequel.
I do not even tell many people that I write. But if I am asked about my life I usually say that doing hair pays my bills, photography is my glass of wine and writing is my true passion.
Listening to someone describe my writing to another person I was amused. She said, "No, it's really good." This was in response to the doubtful look of the person who was just told I write. "She is funny, and there is always a moral at the end." The person did not seem impressed.
I have been accused of leaving open endings because I like the attention. How wrong that statement was. I like for people to take away from my words their own experiences. I like to believe that every so often I make people think of something in a new way.
People are often times more curious about the details than about whatever lesson I learned (and may forget) that I am trying to convey.
Should I write a tell all? Juicy details of this one woman's life? It may turn in to fiction if I were to attempt that.
I have no delusions of self grandeur. I consider myself to be a very average person that could easily get lost in a crowd. Maybe that is why I literally try to avoid crowds.
I do not ask much from life. I want my children to be happy in their endeavors, I want enough money to pay my bills and take a vacation every so often, I want to right my wrongs, and love people to the best of my ability. I have crossed off many items I once asked of life, some of them have been crossed off because I no longer desire them, some because they have been fulfilled, and others I just know will not be, no matter how many times I ask.
A friend told me the other day that I am on the verge of a rather large step. She said I have been standing still for far too long. She knows me and I trust her so implicitly that I believe her. I did not ask her what she thinks this step will be. I am certain she already knows, but like a mysterious soothsayer, I also know had I asked she would not have answered.
I have to take away from her words my own thoughts. My own ideas of what is next. It is the same with my writing. The details are not important. They may tantalize or seduce someone to keep reading, but ultimately the person reading will have to take away their own ideas.
Perhaps someday I will write a more detailed full story of my life and the experiences I have had and continue to have. Perhaps I already do write one under a different heading and you have just not stumbled upon it yet.
Either way, there will always be room to question, there will always be details unknown. There will always be that one moment that I choose to withhold and take out to relive on my own time. Am I writing about you? Maybe. But I am not telling.
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