If you’re one of the seven people who caught it, I had a post up yesterday about smoking weed every day. I deleted it because who cares about that. Posting on the internet is new to me and I like it but I’m still sorting out which of my thoughts are interesting and which aren’t.
Posting more on the internet than the occasional self-promo is good for me because it makes me write every day. Like most writers, I knew that writing was what I wanted to do with my life pretty young. Also like most writers, I go through spells of not writing, agonizing about not writing, writing garbage, and thinking about how much more bearable I would be as a person if I could just shut the fuck up, though honestly all of these moods have improved a lot since I got out of school.
Most of my friends who write poetry and fiction don’t blog or even post on Twitter. I get that language can feel sacred, especially if you’ve spent years studying it. But writing a lot of maybe-nonsense and making it available to other people for free doesn’t hurt anyone. To me posting is less of a disservice to your writing than sending your poem to an Established Magazine and letting them lop off lines here or there.
I think of posting every day as part of my general effort to enunciate. I’m practicing saying “Hi, this is Serena” clearly and crisply on the phone at work, and I’m practicing putting coherent thoughts on the Internet in the hopes that I’ll get better at making myself understood.
Miss Forceful Wants You 