Bare-Fisted Writing

I have to admit, I’m still reeling from what I posted last week.  It took two days to push that ‘post’ button.  Two days of playing worst-case-scenario in my head.  Everything from my personal world imploding, through a blizzard of hateful comments, to zero ‘likes’ on the blog.  I’m still not sure what would be worse.

FYI, the blog site keeps track of ‘views’ verses ‘likes’, so a ‘like’ is a “I read this and found something of value in it” for me. I’m trying to not obsess over how well liked my blog is, since I’m just starting out, but the occasional pat on the back is nice.  A ‘share’ would mean you thought it could be useful to other people.  I’m still finding my feet in this format, but I am looking foreword to that day, so I don’t want to rush it.

I’m still a bit unsure why I’m blogging, other than it’s part of an writer’s  social platform.  Subject matter is a bit of a problem for me.  I’m not a foodie; I barely have any interest in my own lunch.  I’m not a tip finder or a list maker.  I’m not using tons of images or gifs or bullet points.  I don’t consider my new floor or appliance to be a post worthy topic.  I don’t plan on tempting readers to comment or share by using contests or cookies as a reward.  I’m just writing, mostly about writing.  I know it gives me a limited audience, but I’m ok with that.

BUT, the mask is on, and the gloves are off.  I’m not sure if  the gloves were kid or boxing, but it’s a bare-fisted fight from here on out.  Mostly with my own psyche, but some energy is turned out to the world that contains me and helped make me who I am.  I’ve put myself on notice.  NOTHING is held back from my writing.  Not even my own deepest fears; the things that terrify me.

Like all writers, I must write what I know, from my own experiences.  But, like all speculative fiction writers, I will re-imagine it piecemeal, in worlds of my own making.  I’m not writing my memoir or an autobiography, but I’m doing my best to write from the most authentic place I can.  If this means I make us all uncomfortable, or reveal the dark twist of my thoughts in my stories, so be it. Plenty of other writers have helped put all those twists in there.

That being said, I do plan on changing the look of my blog.  The theme I chose doesn’t allow pictures to be attached to the posts, and I do understand how much images can draw in a reader.  I am a visual person.  My stories play out in my head as a movie, and I am starting to recognize the feel of that intense state of hallucination from the inside, although I’m not sure my family and friends recognize it, yet.  I struggle to put the images into words that will put my pictures in my reader’s heads.

The fancy French chef turns her cat eyes to you, the yellow-green of her irises contrasting with her marmalade striped fur.  “What do you think?”  She holds out her latest attempt at mouse mousse.

What color was the apron, or should I tell you?  😉



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