mugging the camera.

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dateline: oZthots

17 august 1996 3:12 p.m.

Yes, it took me an extra day to post that last entry. I got distracted tidying up some other things. I rewrote a little of my journal pages, added stuff to the "things that rock" page, started on the new FAQ and "cast" pages... More honestly, I was having some second-thoughts about putting it up. Part of it is because I'm just stunned by how my style has changed, evolved, in just two months. Stumbling across other online diary-keepers, or great resources like the mailing list Diane Patterson started, has been an epiphany for me. All of a sudden I want to write everything, my little paper notebook for random scribbles being flipped open every ten minutes. These diary entries have grown back into long essays from two-paragraph blurbs, but now they're part diary, part storytelling, part humor column, part soapbox... (Look out, now it's part confessionary!) I've always thought of myself as a writer, although not of the caliber to be one professionally. Yet, I haven't done any fiction or poetry since high school, mostly because after a point I fizzled out. I lost sight of its rewards. Thus summer, suddenly I'm exploding with words. Unlike in real life, perhaps to your chagrin, I can't be shut up in a medium like this. The thrill of actual, warm-bodied readers... the hunger to try different ideas, skills, techniques... rediscovering how great it is to experiment with imagery, pacing, organizing... the amazing perspective I get from working out the day's hidden gifts and traps. Am I getting swept up? Too longwinded? A little too self-involved? My first entry, now lost, written sometime in September of 1995, said, "Maybe you'll find something interesting, and maybe I'll find myself." It sounded deep, but I guess a little trite. But now, I think I am. And it's a little scary. My mind has -- this weekend -- violently swayed from one extreme to the next. Quit altogether? Return to concise "brights"? A self-imposed limit on length? I've decided I want to stick with it, though it's weird going into another semester with another "major" part of my life to juggle. I've also decided I'm going to just let my words flow where they may. I'm sure I want others to take this journey with me, but it's going to be a bland, meandering ride for a while. The other part is that I've been questioning how personal it's appropriate to get. Though it's ancient history, this diary's first incarnation was killed by my crossing a line I supposedly should have recognized but I've still never pinned down. All of the other journal writers have set their boundaries; some are deep-reaching and intimate, others light and totally sterilized. Of course, safety, overzealous date-seekers and stalkers are a big concern. Details about me I characterize as being "specific but not neccessarily accurate" -- I want to be as wholly unfiltered as possible. And all friends I mention choose how anonymous they are (and thankfully, most love the attention). But the hardest part is having to wrestle with two faces. I know a lot more people are stopping through, and there have always been people I know, many friends, reading these entries. It's a strange, nebulous, often dangerous void that lies between what you say to a person's face and what you say to complete strangers. I try to keep that void as narrow as possible, but I can still fall into it. I've had a lot of doubts, fears, and doom-and-gloom e-mail. I've thought about it a lot. And I've decided -- as with the "kiss" entry -- that if I'm not sure, I'm just going to go ahead and say it. Why? Because there's nothing I hide if asked -- my friends will always get my honest thoughts if they're brave enough to seek them, either in person or online. Because I get upset enough over someone else's censorship without me censoring myself. And because the more pure the thoughts I share, the more likely they'll touch someone else who can learn from them or teach me what they mean.