Clean and True

There's the daily routine shower. Lather, rinse, repeat. Then there are those showers where you imagine yourself encased in a loose half-molting sheath of flaking dead skin cells. You methodically steam and scrub and exfoliate and shave and scrub some more. Like you're going into surgery. Emerge a clean new shiny snake.

There's the quick clean up before casual company arrives. Wipe down the surfaces, shove the clutter out of sight, clean hand towels in the bathroom, maybe buy some flowers. Then there is the deep cleaning that is done for yourself. The horrified realization, the invisible line that is crossed. Unacceptable. You can't live like this. You will take this last week of the year in this new house, unpack finally. Organize, unclutter. Sterilize every surface.

You know it is obsessive, compulsive, whatever the words are to describe the mindless, irrational dark fast need to have things in order. Out. Damn. Spot.

Then you re-read what you have written and smile. So damn impressionable. Saturday you are reading The Tipping Point and having your heart and imagination swell at the possibility for global social change. Today you have just forced yourself to put down (after 242 pages read in one sitting) James Frey's A Million Little Pieces.

He writes about his addiction (worse than anything you can imagine) and recovery (heroic, I'm hoping) in such brutal, honest, staccato sentences. I internalize the tone, the mood, the ideas. Alone in this Godless world, fighting my own demons, looking for a glimmer of truth and hope and humanity, just like he is. I do not consciously mimic his "style." I am telling you; right now it is my own, it has inhabited me. Give me some Jane Austen and I will be quipping, light, clever.

This does relate to The Tipping Point, in that subtle, small environmental changes (like what you choose to read and view) affects what goes on in your head and presumably the actions that follow.

In a comment to my recent post about blogging "crimes," someone asked me my opinion regarding the difference between writing for yourself and writing for one's readers. My opinion (and others will differ) is this. Those of us who fancy (or delude) ourselves "writers" must write. We write because of our internal need/drive to express. There is no choice. Often, this is a diary, personal journaling, meant to help the writer puzzle through experiences and emotions to glean meaning and truth of his or her life. There is no desire or drive to interact with others, it is personal. And that is beautiful and perfect.

Those of us who write to be read, to be published (and I count myself somewhat self-consciously in this group) are also driven to express what is true. That truth can be in a good argument for or against a position, it can be a humorous story that has you laughing and shaking your head at the same time, that is so true. It can be a flight of fancy, horrific, hysterical, personal, tragic, anything so long as it holds some kernel of truth. About life, people, the world.

But unlike the personal journalers, we do not do this for ourselves alone. Masturbatory wordplay is not as satisfying as an exchanged intercourse for us. We want to touch, reach, affect, stimulate, provoke. We want to strike that balance between writing our truths for ourselves and hitting that resonating note within our readers.

We want to be tuning forks, setting the pitch, so that others, if only for a short while, start vibrating and sounding back the tone, the mood the ideas we have written.

There are people publishing on this most public forum who do not fancy/delude themselves writers. They post more for social reasons, or for information sharing. To amuse, hook up, entertain, befriend, inform. This is all beautiful and perfect. And I certainly feel that pull, and have tried to entertain and befriend and inform to some extent and I hope I have begun to succeed at some level there.

Often, though, this type of blogging, in both myself and others, leaves me feeling empty. I want to hear your truth. I want it to ring true for me. And sometimes, surprisingly and unexpectedly, even in the middle of a meme post, it does and it is beautiful and perfect and I am vibrating at your frequency. I am smoking what you are rolling and we are getting high on the exchange of truth (not absolute Truth, but momentary, fleeting, undeniable truth of the now) and ideas.

Mostly, I want to write. I want to exchange ideas. I want to teach and I want to learn. I want to be a tuning fork sometimes, and resonate sometimes with other tuning forks.

Is it for me or is it for you? Most emphatically yes and yes.

Comments

[Larry Jones]

I want to be one of those DRIVEN to write, scribbling obsessively in dark coffeehouses, wearing mismatched shoes, oblivious to any possible audience, alone with my thoughts on a higher plane.

That's who I want to be, but instead I keep having the horrible realization that I'm just blogging.

[Shephard]

Larry, I think you "are" a writer. And I enjoy hearing what you write. And if you hang on long enough, mismatched shoes will be the next trend, available at the shoe department in Macy's.

Jane, beautifully put. A tuning fork. I want to strike the harp and lead the chorus.
I want to resonate and reflect like a mirror all that is human and real and flawed. And Buddha bless the Blog. Because it helps me stay in the river... the river that eventually leads to the ocean. The ocean of the written and published word. It's forward movement.
~S

[Theresa]

In every part of my life, I'm an ensemble player. I've never been much of a soloist. It's the same with writing. I tried writing before before I had a blog. The only minor success I had was in a short-lived writing group. Even then, it was mostly crap. If I've ever written anything worthwhile, its been on my blog. I owe it all to you, Larry, and everyone else who has participated in my efforts. If I say that write for myself, it's only because writing tethers me to the earth. It keeps me connected to you.

[Jayne]

Larry: I see your romantic notion . . . and raise you two "just blogging" honest, enlightening, witty exchanges between strangers. Behold:

Shephard: Bastard one-upping metaphorizor. . . I mean, beautifully put! The mirror, the ocean, the chorus, yes, yes! (See, Larry, this is what it's all about. Shephard and me, any and all who choose, resonating, reflecting, playing, moving forward in harmonic, fluid exchange. Er, without the exchange of fluids, that is. . . "just blogging," my ass!)

Theresa: Very well said! I think our temperaments are similar that way. This writing outlet has created the space and impetus (and pressure) for me to write so much more than I was doing just "for me" or for some hypothetical future audience.

The comment function is both a boon and a bane, though, isn't it? Instant feedback and support, exchange and refining of thoughts, the sharpening of one's craft when reading so many other talented writers, the bonds that are formed. . . but then the second-guessing when there was no (or weak) response, the desire to "feed" the need of a busy audience, already bombarded with so much other "competing" information, the lure of the easy flashy entertainment at the expense of expressing our deeper, more complex truths. . . I think we all struggle with this, some more gracefully than others.

[Theresa]

Occassionally, Larry reminds me that I'm a vetran blogger ... well past the 1-year mark. Apparently, that experience is supposed to give me a smidge of grace when it comes to the comment function. With that in mind, I'm going to get a little preachy on your sweet ass.
You must never judge your writing on the number of comments, even if you didn't receive any at all. Some of my most ridiculous posts have received the highest number of comments (were you around for the lime-in-the-vagina post?). Some of my favorite posts received few or none, especially the first 3 or 4 months that I was developing bloggy relationships. It's easy to fall into the number trap, but you can't let yourself. You're a fantastic writer with a distinct voice. I'm going to repeat that for emphasis: you, my friend, are a fantastic writer with a distinct voice. Don't compare yourself to anyone. Only read other blogs for amusement, education, inspiration and support. Developing a core group of people you respect is far more important than having dozens of people leave "nice post" comments.

[Jayne]

Theresa: Yay, more comments!! Just kidding, dear. You were actually the person I was thinking about when I wrote about grace. Thanks for the kind words and sweet smack with your riding crop, I needed that. I do feel I'm getting better with handling the "audience" (and sometimes lack thereof) concept. I just have more fun when others participate.

HA! I was around (lurking) for the lime in the vagina post! I kept coming back every now and again until there was something I could relate to a little more before commenting. I found you so audacious and witty (I was a little intimidated by you at first. Yes, I'm a dork.)

[Polyman2]

I write because
I must.
If not,
I would burst
like a tin foil
encased heart
in a microwave.

YUK!!!
now excuse me,
I must shower

[Hill]

>...forever a member of the chorus, longing for her starring role, I am merely a guest in this cast of writing stars, Miss Jayne always in the leading role.

I laugh when I read that you were intimidated by Theresa, or by anyone, for that matter, for you were so intimidating to me when first I happened upon Jayne Says.

How riddled with self doubt are we, and how easy for us to look outside (or in the comments section of our blogs) for validation. You must know how talented you are, Jayne, and how respected and admired.

By at least one(wink wink), and from the looks of it, by many.

[Pops]

I write because I cannot. Stop. Lying.

It's embarrassing.

Although I might be lying about that too.

See? It's insidious.

[Jayne]

Polyman: You crack me up. That was quite a poem. . . and what, no blog of your own? Or are you sitting in the cafe, madly scribbling, with your mismatched shoes and tinfoiled heart . . .

Hill: HA! You crack me up, too! You are too sweet. Just imagine all the new bloggers coming across your blog and feeling intimidated by your breezy, witty style, your beautiful smile : ) and on and on it goes. Yes, we are ALL insecure and we ALL want to be loved and that's okay. Because we're also ALL powerful and perfect if we only remember it.

Pops: Yes, but behind the pathologic lies, behind the hyperbole, the tangents, the obscure references, the profanity, the insincerity, the paranoia, the obsessive-compulsiveness, the sarcastic snarkasity . . . there lies a tiny glimmer of a kernel of truth and humanity, as much as you try to obscure it. And that's more than enough to keep me hooked!

[polyman2]

All- Please come visit me,
it's lonely
in the wormhole
I call home.

[Popeye]

Yeah, writing is strange. I never really did pre-bloggin in the way I do here. I stumble across dry spells here and there but then something comes up, I start writing and, whammo, there it is. It's all kind of odd.

[Jayne]

Polyman: Thank you for sharing the directions to your wormhole! I can't tell if you mean the space type wormhole or a tunnel in dirt, but perhaps you mean both, if your quirky site is any indication : ) I will come visit again soon.

Popeye: I am so glad you write! Your evocative prose haunts me. I definitely resonate with the intimate, personal, introspective mood and ideas of what you write.