There were a lot of things wrong with how I tried to jumpstart my blogging ‘career’ back again last year. It was one aborted attempt after another. The old dog tricks I pulled and the sentences I structured seemed insincere because they were. They were the product of me trying to emulate my old writing style, with all the ‘wit’ and sarcasm viewed retrospectively. So it flopped. Every single time. I write different now because of how circumstances have changed me, and I’m no longer inclined to resurrect or even recall the kind of humor I used to carry myself with. Although, to be fair, if I do come off stuffy and pretentious still, it’s probably because I haven’t changed much in that regard. I still like long-ass paragraphs.
So. Ta-da. Here I am, back at it again with the whole blogging thing. I’ve lost probably my entire readership. I changed my URL, several times. I haven’t seen the blogger interface in two years and I honestly think it's going to be a pain in the ass to get back on this horse.
I could talk about myself, because that’s what my blog has always been about. I do want to address some things, though, just to clear the air and provide a better, hopefully more honest foundation for this second chance. I realized that in the past, what I did wasn’t really blogging. Well, I had a blog, sure, and I wrote, you know, everyday like clockwork. I was dedicated and I loved writing about my day. But I was young and I wasn’t up to the task of being accountable for myself at the time. So I hurt a lot of people with what I wrote, and it caused more drama than I could actually handle, but I’m past all that because I just don’t do that shit anymore. Well, there’s actually more to be said on this topic but if I continued blathering on and expanding this paragraph any longer, we won’t have any actual content on my blog. It’ll all be exhausted on this first post.
Whatever issues I had back then, I’m leaving it there. I know that the archives are readily available for just about anyone who wishes to read about what a total tool I was when I was younger, and that honestly doesn’t bother me. Because that girl has shit all to do with me right now. I did penance for my sins, and I’ll leave it at that.
I used to think that as I grew older, I won’t be interested in talking about myself the same way anymore. It’s partially true, I guess. I love attention as much as the next person but I know where to get it from now (i.e. my friends and not a bunch of strangers on the internet). I remember back when Latifah stopped blogging and it kind of devastated me. If I remember correctly, she talked about how now that she’s left high school, it feels less important to talk about the minutiae of her day to day life. I didn’t understand then, and I do now. I think everyone realizes this when they’re in college. There’s gossip, but I sure am not going to splash it across the internet for anyone’s parents to read, not even if I use nicknames to hide identities. I go to class and take exams, same as what I did back in high school, but I don’t feel the need to break it down on an hourly basis.
I guess it’s sad that I no longer want to write about my experiences for posterity, for safe-keeping. When I tried to blog again last year, it was around December and my days were jam packed with activity. Last hurrah before college and all that. It didn’t feel good to record it, though. Like, I cringe just reading all of it. It’s not that I don’t care to share my life with people; I’m not a particularly private person. My priorities have just changed, and my perspective has shifted.
So if anyone’s asking what’s changed, there’s your answer. And if anyone’s asking why am I doing this now, again, I can’t quite say for certain. Not yet.
I do know that I want to start writing again. About me, my feelings and my opinions and my friends. Not quite about my life and what I had for breakfast, although I’m sure someone would be happy enough to read about that. I used to pride myself in being a writer, it used to be my thing. I was the writer. I wrote. I guess it just came to a point where I didn’t want (read: was too lazy) to ‘hone my craft’. I didn't really give a crap about becoming a better writer. So I don’t call myself one anymore.
You know, it would wonderful if I could. If I could call myself a writer. I want to be one, but there’s still a question mark that exists in this simple statement of want, I’m nowhere near ready to even begin the process of learning to write. All I know is that I want to do it again. I want to write, for whatever audience out there that wants to read, for whoever that cares about me personally and want to see me chart my growth in words again. Words that are more than 140 characters and actually spell-checked.
So I’m not a writer. I don’t know if I even want to be one. I just want to write again.