I sat down earlier and attempted to write this. It didn’t work out so well, clearly, given the first sentence. In part, I’m sure that was due to the cold cup of coffee on my left. In another part, dinner was done and I had somehow managed to go nearly the entire day without eating a bite of food. Now, that was not entirely my fault (the lack of eating), though I will not go into the details of push mowing a backyard that has been tampered with by the devil himself on an empty stomach on what is likely the hottest day so far this year. Basically, by the time dinner was ready, I was hungry. Then I got distracted by The Voice. It happens, and it’s not the point.
Armed with a piping hot cup of fresh coffee, and sitting in the dark…I feel content to move forward. Well, partially. I’m waiting for my cat – who ventured downstairs as she usually does around this time every night – to come meowing at the door, asking to come in. I will put the cat out of my head and wait until said meowing actually occurs.
When I say that I attempted to write this, what I really mean is that I typed up about three pages worth of words that didn’t just stray off the path I’d initially intended to take, but decided to make an entirely different road to travel down. It’s a problem with me; I doubt that will ever change. I digress should be my life motto. Maybe I will change that, to make it official, and to change something.
There are about…twenty pictures of cats currently at the bottom of my screen right now in the ‘Related Content’ section. I am trying not to be distracted by them all, but they are so cute. I digress.
I’m going to pretend that I haven’t already written 300 words without even mentioning the point of this.
The point! Blogging. Wow, original, I know, right?
All (lame) joking aside, I actually had a very serious tone in mind for this. Probably best that I’m not using it. I haven’t read through it, but I’m sure that my failed attempt at this earlier sounded remarkably unhappy, which was definitely not the tone I’d wanted to set.
I’ll say that, when I started this thing a few days ago, I had no idea what to expect.
I sort of take that back. With all things in life, I came into this with the lowest of low expectations. I do that so I’m rarely disappointed. I can’t say that I’m never disappointed – that the low-expectation-trick is some foolproof method that keeps the crawling feeling of disappointment from sinking in. It happens, even to the most prepared. It happens quite a lot actually.
I was expecting that even the people I know – even my family and friends – wouldn’t take a first look at this thing. I was expecting that people who care about me wouldn’t take the time to read anything that I wrote. I post long entries, what can I say? Do I expect anyone to read them? No.
I can’t explain how…startled I was that first night when some random person ‘liked’ my entry. Did some random person actually read what I had to say? Why? How in the world could they sit there and actually read half a book worth of rambling? It was insane to me. And I can say was as long as I make it clear that it’s paired with is. The was/is thing is split down the middle. I partially understand it now.
It took me a little time to get a proper feel for this website and how it works, I’ll be honest. Despite being in my mid-twenties, I feel like I have zero knowledge for this sort of thing. I still don’t really understand hashtags. I get it that they’re for trending, but past that? IS there a past that? You see, I don’t know. Anywho, gradually figuring this thing out. Gradually going to random people’s blogs and reading their (MUCH shorter) ramblings. Or non-ramblings (meaning that they say worthwhile things).
It’s so weird all the different sorts of blogs there are. That statement was just a random thing; it really holds no relevance whatsoever to what I’m saying on here past being an errant thought that touches – remotely – on the subject.
The next line is supposed to say, Do you ever feel insignificant?
I still said it, didn’t I? You see, I can’t get away from it. To write this entry, the question has to be asked. It would make no sense without it. Maybe I was onto something in my failed attempt. Do we ever really fail, or is failing the first step to succeeding? I digress.
I can’t put the other stuff in here, I just can’t. I will work around it. Insignificance is the key.
We all feel it at some point in our lives, don’t we? We all feel like we’re not good enough, or we’re pushed down, or sometimes…sometimes we’re just down for no explainable reason. Sometimes you don’t need to trip, you’re just there. It doesn’t even have to be a ‘down’ feeling.
I will start off this explanation and how it’s relevant to me by saying that I am an extremely private person. I wasn’t always. I wasn’t always a lot of things that I am now. If you reversed that sentence, it would also be true; it would also be more important. What I mean is that, if you put me face to face with the person I was a handful of years ago…it would be very, very difficult not to punch that idiotic girl in the face. I would stop myself though, because that idiotic girl turned into me at some point. My friends and family have asked me why I want to use a pen name…that’s why. I don’t want to be associated with that girl. It’s hard to say, “It was still me, somewhere.” I’ve had many people tell me that, if they wrote a book, they would want their name and picture all over it. I wrote the story. Why would someone need to know my name or see my face? What does it matter? I know I wrote it. The people I talk to will know that I wrote it. None of that changes what’s inside. Isn’t what’s inside the thing that’s important? What does any of it matter? When discussing it with one of my friends, he said that it was a pride thing. I am full of pride, in my own way/ways. I’m still unsure.
Part of me embraces the stupidity of my youth while another part is disgusted by it. If I hadn’t gone through what I have, or done the things that I have…would I still be me today? I am not ashamed, but…I want my life to be my own, and my past to be in my past where it belongs. It’s difficult in this day and age.
Several years ago I deleted all social networking sites. What was the point of having them? No one talked to each other; they just added friends to add them and to nose around in their lives. I was guilty of it myself. I just didn’t want to be a part of it anymore. So I spent the last several years socially isolated, lost in my own little fake world that I ventured out of from time to time to sit and watch movies with my husband. I didn’t even have a cell phone until last November. Now I made a Facebook and this here blogging thing. I’m talking to people. I’m talking to more people than my husband, or my parents, or my siblings, or my friends on sushi dates. I’m talking to people that I don’t know. It’s so freaking hard for me. I sweat profusely when talking to cashiers at stores for god’s sake. I used to walk around a room, talking to everybody. I used to hang out with my friends and every night made it my personal goal to ensure that everybody in the room was smiling. Just the thought of that now makes me cringe. I need to find a happy medium with it.
I need to tell myself that not everyone will over analyze the things that I say. Not everyone will sit there and think, “My god, she is an idiot.” I am content with my books. Interacting with people is another matter entirely.
Where does this stem from? It’s a mix of simple anxiety (socially and in general), and that feeling of insignificance.
So, is it surprising then that – despite how anxious I get when talking or interacting – I am a talker? I doubt that it is, given how much I write. You see, a lot of the reason I’m so uncomfortable with it is that I can’t stop myself. If you get me talking, I will not stop. The biggest issue is that, quite often, I don’t realize what I say until after I’ve already said it. It’s not that my word vomit spits out horribly offensive things; it doesn’t. My word vomit spews ignorance. Every conversation I have that lasts longer than five minutes will induce at least five, “I shouldn’t have said that,”s. Now, the recipient of said conversing may not think anything negative about it. It is my curse to bear. It is my curse to over analyze myself – to be overly critical. It’s not so much that I worry about making a fool out of myself to other people, but that I worry about making a fool out of myself to myself. Turning into a hermit of sorts will make you worry less about other people and what they think.
But do I worry that who I am and what people think of me will have some sort of adverse reaction towards my work? Yes. Yes I do. It’s silly, possibly. But…take query writing for example. You have these guidelines to follow. The brief, one to two paragraph description of your book. You give them the word count, the examples of books that it’s similar to (target audience and whatnot). Then…*chuckles quietly*. THEN you have to tell them why you’re qualified to write the book that you’ve written. You have to sell yourself. I don’t want MYSELF to be a part of it. And that honestly has nothing to do with my lack of qualifications; it has everything to do with the fact that I feel like my work is so much better than I am. I don’t want to be the reason my work is rejected. Isn’t that ridiculous? I know that it is; you don’t have to tell me. Or maybe it’s not so ridiculous.
This is what I’m saying about insignificance. I sit here…beyond astonished that anyone would listen to what I have to say. I would be so much less astonished about a person wanting to read my books. But to read my thoughts and feelings? To want to know what the process is like for me, or how things are going? It’s insane. One person wanting to do that is insane to me. Someone wanting to have a conversation with me is INSANE to me.
Now, a lot of the reason I’m writing this is because I had a conversation with a person today (technically yesterday now). It was awesome. I think it’s amazing that you can go to some random person’s blog, read it, feel something, comment, and then end up carrying on a conversation – a remarkably enjoyable one, at that. It’s amazing to me that some person would show more interest in my opinions than…I would say…more than half of the people that I know in real life. Is that sad, or is it amazing? Is that the beauty of this thing?
I think it IS beautiful to show support for people you’ve never met, just because their words touched you in some way. Don’t we all wish that we had a little more of that? Wouldn’t the world be a better place if we did – if we reached out a little, stepped out of our comfort zones? I think we all need a little more of that – doing and receiving.
So I have to tell myself that stepping out of my comfort zone is alright. It’s alright to put myself out there. There will be negatives, of course. There will always be negatives. I’ve been thinking this whole time that maybe, JUST MAYBE, my books could help people in some way. But maybe…maybe this could too. Maybe I could make people think about something.
Maybe I don’t have to hide behind my books. I’m shaking my head right now. I’ve hidden inside of my books for years. It’s nice to come up to the surface and breathe, but do I want to get out of the water? I like being in the water; it’s safe there. I like it there.
I don’t know. I don’t even think I’ve said anything in all 2000 of these words. This really wasn’t anything like what I wanted it to be. That’s what happens when I stray from novel-writing. I shouldn’t be surprised.
All in all…good day. Very good day, apart from almost passing out, sweating all over my just-cleaned couch, drinking cold coffee, and being hungry. It doesn’t sound like it, but…very good day, indeed.
And thank you – to anyone who reads this, or any of my other nonsense.
* Written yesterday and not posted because I was extremely tired. Yes, it’s just one button, I know.
** Mostly it was not posted because I wrote a second entry afterward and was contemplating over posting both. The title of this one comes from the point of the other. I discovered that insignificance was not appropriate and could only explain what I meant with a silly small fish/big ocean comparison.
*** For some reason, I keep typing butter every time I attempt to type button.