I’ve thought about this a lot, and here’s the thing: There is No Good Way to explain my motivation here. Every time I think about how I want to phrase this first “real” post, it gets more and more pretentious and douchey*. So you know what? Screw it. I’m gonna douche this up.
That’s not really how I meant to phrase it.
This is already worse than the ‘drafts’ in my head.
I really enjoy reading. And watching good TV. And movies. I like being diverted, swept up, brought along, and in all other ways entertained. I love it when something is so well put that the people on paper become Real or the people on my TV actually talk to Me**. In privacy (read: secrecy) I’ll re-wind/read/play a great scene or line of dialogue over and over until I can recite it from memory. I obsess over those moments until they crystallize and (I think) I can figure out what makes them so brilliant.
And in privacy (read: secrecy) I think I’d like to be the sort of person who creates that stuff. Repeatedly. With not so much the flash-in-a-pan wit of an occasional zinger in the company of friends as the regular, tight-as-a-drum storyteller rhythm that I admire from the likes of David Rakoff or Joss Whedon***.
There is (on the long list of things I want to do before I die) a short list of things that I’m willing to put time into learning how to do well. Cooking good food and Momming are high on that list. It turns out that writing something that other people would want to read is also ‘up there’.
But see, there’s a catch. In order to write something that other people would want to read, I’ve got to first write something. And then I’ve got to let other people read it. This is horrifying because there is clearly a learning curve to writing well which means that I’m currently doing it poorly. And doing something poorly in front of other people is, so far as I can help it, out of the question****.
This, Internet, is your cue.
You don’t really count. You and your vasty, faceless multitudes are going to be the “Other People” in front of whom I’m going to practice writing things. Probably things about myself, because that seems easiest, and talking about myself is one of my most favorite things. And in doing so (steady yourself, here comepretentious and douchey things) maybe I’ll hone my writing voice into something worth showing Real People. That is to say, Real People Who Know Me.
Not that you don’t know me, Internet. If your targeted ads and helpful aut0-fill are any indication, you know me frighteningly well.
It’s just that, there is so much of you out there – and you are so often willing to critically judge from behind the veil of anonymity – that I’m directing my efforts more toward the forest than the trees. If by ‘forest’ I mean the Whole Wide World and by ‘trees’ I mean … my friends?
I don’t know.
Let’s start over.
I’m going to tell you some things about me. You know, things that I think are funny or sad or otherwise noteworthy. These are blog things, right? I haven’t misunderstood the purpose of blogs this whole time, have I?
Hopefully knowing that you might be reading will compel me to actually write. And hopefully with practice I’ll start to write things that are worth your time to read. Win-win.
So stick around.
*Douchey isn’t a real word. Thanks Firefox spell check. I got it.
**Not … you know … like that.
***Or Aaron Sorkin or Ann Patchett or John Updike or John Finnemore, or, or, or.
****I know that you know what I mean. There is nothing worse in this world than the sound of forced kindness. “No, no! I like (insert whatever you’ve done). It (tastes / sounds / feels / is) … interesting.”