*Re-enters sheepishly and begins combing through spilled garbage. Takes swig from half-empty bottle of Mad Dog 20/20, tosses aside. Thinks twice, picks it up, and places in recycling bin instead. Unwraps piece of Nic0rette and begins chewing thoughtfully. After a moment, locates broom and sweeps aside dustballs, glass shards, delusions of grandeur. Finally, leaning upon broom handle, clears throat and begins to speak.*
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Sorry about the earlier melodrama, readers. I was having writer's block, stage fright, and an existential crisis. Also PMS.
I was annoyed at having typecast myself into a certain role here, and angry that I didn't have the guts to break out of it.
I concluded that having a "successful" blog was more about marketing than about writing, and I pouted. Because I am a terrible salesperson and I peddle funky wares.
I resented the fact that I'm not currently in a position to spend the time and energy it takes to write "seriously." Why, oh why, was I putzing around writing silly anecdotes here when I could be using my "free time" to work on something "real"?
And I tried - for about a half an hour - to write that real something. But I didn't have it in me. What I had, if you must know, were a series of cliches strung together awkwardly with little or no segue and sprinkled liberally with flashy five point words.
I came to a late realization that probably won't surprise you: it takes more than skill and perseverance to be a good writer. It also takes a certain amount of courage, and that is something I don't know if I'll ever be able to shore up - not so much because I'm wary of offending the masses, but because I fear exposing my true self to the people I love the most.
There were, in fact, a lot of things I could have written about while claiming to be "blocked." But they required a kind of raw self-exposure I'm not sure I'm ready to make. In this place, or anywhere else.
It was a hard pill to swallow, especially when I finally realized that there is not much difference between journal blogging honestly and writing creative non-fiction for publication. I always told myself that I'm only exposing the tip of the iceberg here to avoid exploiting or drawing undue attention to myself and my family. But it seems there's no avoiding it: If I ever hope to write, I'll have to drop my pants.
Still, I wonder and I fret. Can a person writing pantsless continue to entertain? How many friends will I lose once I've streaked across the football field in my honest altogether? In the end, is it worth it?
Until recently, I've been pretty happy wearing my pants up around my armpits here. And I'm not sure I want to lower them, but I may start loosening my virtual belt, just a little bit.
Feel free to look away.
P.S. How high, if I may ask, do you wear your pants?
Thursday, March 19, 2009
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19 comments:
okay, now THAT'S more like it. And, I will forever be picturing you pantless every time i read you.
but not in a perverted way. i don't think.
Rima! I've missed you.
will always be cheering you on, whether you are mooning us or not.
I let my pants go every so often for a change. It gets easier.
Good gawd, if I don't drop my pants at least twice a week, I might as well push up some daisies.
Glad your back!
I have these thoughts and doubts often...then I drop my pants.
Oh... yeah I'm there.. careful... too guarded sometimes.. welcome back. I think you may find the raw honesty brings more friends than driving them away.
I run a weekly poker tournament called The PokerSlut Tour. I think I can safely say, "What pants?"
So happy you are back!!! Let the pants go! It's summer!
And... she's back! Woohoo!
Go pantsless, baby! :)
I will if you will....double dawg dare!
Hmm, I wear my pants up around my head and peak through the zipper.
Honestly, you may lose a blogger-friend or two. But as you will most likely tell the V-Meister and J-Dog some day, they weren't your true blogger-friends to begin with. (Although, you probably won't end your sentence with a preposition because you're a much better writer than me... than I?... See?)
Since I don't frighten easily, I'll tune in as usual! (Unless you suddenly become Rush Limbaugh or Amish -- then I'll only peak through my fingers... through the zipper...)
I think mine are just under my boobs, which could be higher or lower depending on whether I'm wearing a bra. (Ha! As if I ever go bra-less.)
Honestly? I have a lot of IRL people reading my blog so I don't want to expose too much about myself. My kids are getting older, I don't want to risk embarassing them or sharing stories that are theirs to tell. Perhaps that's why I"m blogging less frequently. Hmmm. Will ponder that.
In the meantime, I hope you find the voice you are seeking, friend. IO'll be here, cheering you on.
Uh, I don't know where my pants are. Sometimes I'm buried under blankets, and others I'm worried that I've pulled a Britney and, well, ya know.
I think it's admirable and I'm trying to do the same more. I'll join a double dog dare pact!
I think blogger just ate my comment. It went something like this: blah blah blah yay Rima blah blah the best posts are real honest sometimes painfully honest stuff and I hope you continue blogging because you're funny and real. and also sometimes really funny.
hmm, my other comment was better. oh well.
I'm just so glad you're back. I only WISH I could written this post myself. Truly, your talent overfloweth.
Drop your pants.
Take a deep breath.
Pull your pants back up, but let them rest comfortably on your hips.
Allow your butt crack to peak out by accident every now and again.
Repeat as needed.
When I was in college and everything was raw (I'd been in the mental hospital twice at that time, weeeeee!) I wrote essays for my non-fiction writing class that I know would curl some people's hair. At the time I just didn't give a shit about reaction. I have that fear now, but for many reasons, including the fact that my daughter is in a private school and I'd worry about folks there finding and reading any of this stuff.
Generally, my pants these days are waist high. Occasionally, I do a low-rider.
I like this metaphor. And I hear you.
If it were entirely up to me I would be pantless most of the time. But my hubby likes to wear his pants around his ears... we have issues about what I post... I try for the pants up to the ears, but sometimes they slip down...
I am so with you on the writing issue. My hubby tells me all the time that I could write with minimal personal info and turn it into some lofty anecdotal piece... but that would require some serious effort... and I, like you, have a limited amount of time. So for the sake of keeping up the posting - my posts are so not writerly, very casual and hastily drafted... If I really concentrated on the writing aspect, I would probably only manage a post a month or so...
Well, in reality I wear the low-waisted bell bottoms because even though my muffin top overfloweth, they're the most comfortable.
But on my blog, I stripped down to my skivvies when I started to blog about infertility and grief about my Dad. It's interesting because as you've so eloquently described here, those are the posts that people respond to the most and the ones I love writing... the ones that come from that creative, passionate place.
There are some relatives, friends and neighbours who know about the blog. So therein lies the problem - it's a tug-o-war between the bare-assed side of me and the belt that wants to keep things around chin level.
I love your analogy. You are a wicked writer, even when you're not pantless ;).
You will figure out what it all means and where you are. You have a rich talent and it will find its way if you listen to it. No one can be as hilarious as you and not write something amazing. And you do, in your posts!
I missed you.
Pants around here are often pulled down to expose a bit of fishnet. Then up to the neck again.
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