The Writer's Book Closet

I have a blog, but it's a secret blog. I like the anonymity of it. I can talk about work, and friends and the boyfriend and his monster family. I can vent. And I do. Probably too much. It is perhaps even the reason why it seems nobody reads the damn thing. I have a blog, but it's not fully satisfying, and I realize it's because, despite the fact that I like the anonymity of it, I also want something that I don't have to keep secret. I crave a place where I can talk about my writing and connect it to my self, my real self, not my MaryPoppins self. And so, I'm considering starting a new one.

I think I might try out a new site. I want it to be interesting, have pictures, have video and all that jazz, but I am severely and hopelessly technologically challenged. And since I have the attention-span of an Aphid on meth, I'm not too keen on sitting myself down and trying to master it, you know?

I think about starting this new blog, and then I become all insecure because, if there's no interest in this anonymous blog, why would anyone want to read a blog from the perspective of the real me, or rather the public me? I don't have any specialized knowledge about anything (which is quite the accomplishment in and of itself considering the amount of education I have), I don't really lead an interesting life, and most of all, I will feel all exposed.

I want to blog about my writing. I want to come out of the writer's book closet, because up until now, there's only a handful of people that I have told about my book writing adventure. (On that note, I am 60% through my second draft, and wow is it tedious. But more on that later.) Over time, I've bashfully admitted to more and more people, that I have a "little hobby". I try to downplay it as much as possible in order to hide its importance to me. In order to hide the fact that I've wanted to be a writer since I was about seven years old. That I actually am writing a book, and it's a fantasy novel. That yes, once I am finished, I will try to have it published. And why do I want to hide these facts? Because I feel embarrassed. Embarrassed for thinking it's even a possibility. Embarrassed for being a cliche, for being one out of a billion people that wants to write a book. Embarrassed for having something I still daydream about. Embarrassed that I'm still a completely lost soul. Embarrassed to be me.

Coming out of the writer's book closet means exposing myself, letting people in, showing them who I am. And that scares me to death.

And that is why I have to do it.