#4
Standing Naked
That's how I've always felt blogging. As if I am standing naked before the world. As if I were a cadever lying on an operating table with students poking and prodding every part of my body. Exposed is the word. But it sounds forced. Naked is more voluntay.
Yet I find it irresistable. The writer in me wants to express herself. The privacy freak in me castigates her for being too obvious about it. These two will never reconcile themselves. Thats why I tend to slaughter my darlings... how many of my works have I murdered because I thought they were too revealing?
It's becoming a real problem for me. One part wants to fly, the other part tells it, "Your armpits will be exposed when you spread your wings."
My teacher once said truth is one of the greatest mysteries of good writing. I recall reading somewhere else that the world will not end because some woman told the truth. It's all true in a warped philosophical way... yet I can't stop wondering if the world is really ready for the truth. Or more importantly, if I am ready to tell it.
Truth doesn't have to be scandalous. It doesn't have to be a vivid description about how you lost your virginity. It doesn't have to be gauche or tawdry either. All it needs to say are three words: I am human.
*
Hubby called this evening. Hearing his voice over the phone always makes me weak. And for reasons known only to me I can't think straight. I just love the way his words languidly roll into one another. He's wholly masculine with a deep baritone voice. I once joked that he needed to tone down the bass in his voice because it was being muffled up by the signal and I couldn't hear him clearly. He laughed out loud and that instantly short circuted a part of my brain.
03/07/2007
