All The Bubbles Of Life

You know the weirdest part of writing a pseudo-anonymous blog?  There are only pieces of me in here.  It’s almost like I started with the idea of “I’ll share this much, and no more.”

Of that limited amount, it is the patchwork nature that is most odd.  I’ve talked about – or at least hinted at – my incredibly pathetic, failed lovelife.  I’ve mentioned my obsession with video games and japanime.  I’ve even talked about my very real issues with depression and suicide…both with having far too many friends who killed themselves, and with my own impulses therewith.

But all of those are just snapshots, pictures in an album that don’t even come close to the whole thing.  I’ve never talked about a hockey locker room with 15 (surprisingly sober) players belting out Journey karaoke…or drinking beer with Vaclev Havel…or even my illicit, shameful passion for Downton Abbey

People live their lives in different, discreet little bubbles, and I am no exception.  The writer-me does not really talk to the hockey-player-me, and both look with contempt on the professional-me.  And pretty much every “me” just shakes their head at the introverted/socially-awkward-me.

I started this blog for three main reasons:

First and foremost, I needed to work on “short form” writing.  I’m a wordy bastard.  Always have been, always will be.  Here, however, I get to work on keeping myself to 500-600 words (err, more miss than hit on that score, honestly), while exploring a voice different from what I use in my fiction writing.

Second, this is my venue to explain the choices I’ve made in my long form stories.  Why is Connor the way he is?  Why did I choose the various languages & cultures I use?  Why do I cuss so fucking much?  You get the idea.

And the last bit – the relatively unimportant bit – was to “live-blog” the creative process.  When I started writing seriously, I read all kinds of stuff on the whats and hows, but all were disconnected from the creative process itself.  I started this blog thinking I would record, step by step, that process: from the beginnings of Connor and Oz, to the end of the (sorta accidental) trilogy, I would not only explain what and why, but put those in the context of creating the stories themselves.

Of those three, only #1 has consistently happened.  And, honestly, I have zero problem with that. I love me my “squirrel moments” and the occasional random drunk-post.

So why am I writing this?

I was having lunch the other day and the subject of this blog came up briefly.  As we talked, and even afterwards, I got to thinking about just how much of myself I don’t put in here.  And about how very hard it is to truly know and understand the “entirety” of someone else.

And, yes, I know and understand that that is what marriages and relationships are supposed to be all about. Please, let’s not go there…I can’t even commit to mowing the goddamned lawn, how the hell am I supposed to commit to a wife?!

Not putting all of yourself into a public blog may be understandable, but what happens when you do that with every single person you know and/or meet? When all of the discreet little bubbles of your life are private?

You turn into a writer.  Duh.

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