I’ve been over at Myspace, and I’ve been struggling with some inner turmoil over “Social Networking.”
Why do we write? I spend more time writing about that question than I do actually writing about anything worth a lick. The debate between selfish and selfless keeps coming up. This writing that I’m doing, right now, is selfishly driven, because I would not write it for myself. I write it for public response - I hope for adoration, or merely a compliment. Even if the writing is garbage, I will be validated in your eyes. I will BECOME a good writer, where before I may not have been one, if only I can reach enough of you to get a response.
The problem with that, besides the obvious one, is that people are not honest. I have been handed pure garbage before, and seeing the look of hope in my friend’s eye, simply could not shatter their dreams. Granted, that was then, and I wouldn’t hesitate to send them down a different path these days, but the point still remains. Every time we post something into a blog, we are expecting a comment. That is the purpose of a blog, or else we’d make all our posts private and disable the comment feature. Some of my posts are so precious to me, I literally hold my breath waiting to see how you will react. These are my works of art, my little babies, and a hint of criticism could shatter me, not to mention threaten to change my writing style. And to ask you not to lie to me would really defeat the purpose, because I shouldn’t be seeking your approval to begin with.
Besides, who’s to say what makes a good writer? How dare I put the burden on you? A friend of mine and I share common tastes in authors, but there are a few we just don’t agree on. I may be an excellent writer to some of you – others may think I’m too self-righteous and cold. Part of it is what’s popular at the time, what kind of writing people are used to and prone to.
All in all, the measure of my literary worth should not be how many people I can fool into thinking I’m a good writer, but how my writing makes me feel, and then I’ve reached another problem – If I write something I feel is amazing, I will simply have to share it with you, because I couldn’t let something so beautiful go to waste.
These are the thoughts and fears that keep me away for so long, at times. So now, my internal battle rages on, and I am simply left mute.
