Last night as I sat in the blonde fairy's shop with foils on my head catching up on blogs on my phone, I stumbled upon a post by Velveteen Mind. Here's an excerpt:
In doing their research, these new bloggers began to notice not only what defines the success of the old guard, but also what signals the beginning of their decline: the introduction of self-awareness. Specifically, the self-consciousness of being observed.
And I sort of felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck.
Initially I thought -- isn't that the point of publishing? I've always been amazed by the amount of writers claiming to be afraid of their readers, or to be afraid of meeting their readers. From my extroverted position, the whole point of publishing is the connection between people, or at least between minds. I could write all I wanted and hide it in a shoebox in my house, but for me although struggling for good art is a goal in and of itself, connection and sharing the words are the ultimate pay-off.
I'll share with you how geeky I really am. I wrote a mission statement for myself when I was graduating from college. It was: "I will make myself and others feel heard." I know, right? I am such a dork. And yet, I share the dorkiness with you, because I really believe this shit. I believe in order to avoid waking up twenty years down the road forgetting what you set out to do in the first place, you have to record your dreams while you're young enough to still think you can accomplish them. And hopefully, twenty years down the road you'll still believe in yourself enough to keep trying after life has knocked you down a few times.
So if the goal *okay, my goal, I can't claim to know other writers' goals* is to share and communicate and be heard, how can realizing people are reading your work cause your work to decline?
Oh, but it can. And it has! Or it did.
When I started Surrender, Dorothy four years ago, I wrote stories about my days. My days in those days were filled with baby poop, but they were also filled with self-discovery and new things I'd never done before. They were filled with exhaustion and love and amazement, and also humor. Babies are TOUCHING. People covered in excrement are FUNNY. Not realizing your co-workers are going to read your blog four years in the future is FREEING.
When I put together Sleep Is for the Weak, ironically I chose posts and essays from many now-power bloggers from their earliest days, the days before they felt observed.
I wrote recently on BlogHer about the shift of the mommyblogger. Many of the bloggers I've been reading since I entered the blogosphere through the back door have started writing less about their kids and more about themselves or the outside world: pop culture, politics, food. Part of this shift I believe is caused by older children and privacy issues. And part of it, I think, is brought on by that awareness of being read. It becomes harder to avoid geographical references with older children, and you want to avoid those out of privacy fears. It becomes harder to decipher which stories will hurt your child when they live on forever in a search engine. With each new, "Hey, I found your blog!" conversation with a family member or fellow daycare mom or co-worker, you wonder if this person's perception of you has been forever changed. It's an extremely vulnerable feeling.
Unfortunately, the writing that makes me feel the most vulnerable is the writing that has resonated the most with people. A cute story about the little angel's choice in music doesn't do as much as my admission of my past eating disorder and my fears about my daughter's future body image. I know. People have told me. But do I want the guy four cubes over to know I had an eating disorder? It doesn't matter. I don't have a choice.
If you choose to publish, you can't pick and choose your audience. There are no backsies. It's not for everyone. When I did the Walt Bodine show earlier this fall while promoting Sleep Is for the Weak, a woman called in and admonished me for sharing my stories, saying some things should be kept private.
I know a lot of people feel that way. My own extended family members and in-laws feel that way. And I feel them observing me every time I hit publish, especially with posts like the one yesterday when I wrote that my husband said the wrong things when I was upset. He felt I misinterpreted him. I felt it was my perception -- that's the thing about life -- no two people live the same experience in the same way. I try not to write about the people in my life who have asked me not to write about them, or at least not to publish that writing, but it's so hard to self-censor when the writing itches so.
I think Megan was talking more about the observation of Technorati scores and sponsors than the observation of one's own audience, but as my Technorati score is not unbelievable and my sponsors are handled on my review blog, I don't worry at all about that observation. My employers, friends and family know I have a potty mouth. I told a prominent clothing company my target audience is "moms who say 'fuck.'" If sponsors don't like that, well, don't send me stuff. It's far riskier to me to hurt a friend or family member than a multinational conglomerate.
I try very hard to do no harm, but I go into this writing thing knowing it's impossible to do no harm unless you speak no words. I could talk about how much I only want one child and a woman with ten kids could feel judged. I could talk about how much I hated pregnancy and inspire the ire of the infertile women who want so badly to have a pregnancy they could just die. In the early days, I wasn't aware of those realities. I wrote freely without worrying whom I would offend. Then I got the comments, on this blog and in person, telling me how my words had stung, unintentionally for sure, but still.
I continue to share my perception of my life, here, five days a week. I need to. I need the record and the personal growth it brings. The problem is now I know there is an audience. I need there to be an audience. And I need to let that audience have its own opinion, its own perception of me, even if that perception isn't beautiful and perfect. I need to let people disagree with me, think I'm stupid, naive, immature, what have you, without feeling faint. I need to see when the criticism is fair and when it's not. I need to discern whether people are criticizing my writing or criticizing me as a person. I need to determine whether or not I will let that bother me. As Eleanor Roosevelt said, no one can make you feel inferior without your consent.
But writing, like therapy, also exposes you to your own flaws. Sometimes the criticism IS fair. That's why I keep publishing, despite my awareness of being observed. I wanted to make myself and others feel heard. This forum helps me feel heard, but it also provides a forum for disagreement. I don't delete comments attacking me because of that reason. And because I think the person will eventually feel foolish, and the comment will still be there, a lesson to think twice before spewing the vitriol next time. We are all being observed, bloggers, commenters, writers. The only way to avoid being observed is to never leave your house, never open your mouth. The lesson here isn't to fear being observed, but to understand all that it brings, pleasant and painful.
