Saturday, November 28, 2009

Where To Begin?

So, I made a deal with myself: I can peruse facebook as much as I want to but can not post any updates to my status until after I've posted here. As the silliness of my life happens, I find myself wanting to post a short sentence there. When I remember the deal that me, myself and I have made, I'm forced to start really thinking.

I'm stuck with where to begin. What to tell. And how to write it. It's a bit scary.

My 5 year old has been reliving his babyhood lately. For the past 6 months or so he's been taking care of "his baby" at school; I'm told that he's working through something and that it would be beneficial for me to talk to him about my babyhood and/or childhood. My initial reaction to rehashing parts of my past was not favorable. And despite the fact that I recently pulled out my childhood dolls and have begun to share the role of "parenting" Melissa, Raggedy Ann and the Sock Doll with my son, I haven't done any real work.

So with less distraction, 5 seems to be a good starting point. Or babyhood. Either seems reasonable.

Of course, I need to figure out a couple of things before I can start to let it all flow out. Like which name(s), place(s), voice to use.

I'm going to simply do what I can to not worry too much about the details of the what or how. The shape of the beginning, middle and end will reveal itself eventually. So for now, I ponder 5 and babyhood.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Blogger vs. Facebook

I have a story to tell. I've told four people of my secret fantasy of wanting to write a book. You, Tinker, Paulie, & Winkiless.

Here's the hook: I'm not sure how to tell it. Or if you're interested in reading it. Or if I want to tell. Or what the story line should be.

What I do know is that the story line is not pleasant. Or poignant. It's complicated. Pull yourself up from your bootstraps and completely conflicted - to-this-day-not-completely-resolved complicated. Fucked up - keeps me awake at night complicated.

And yet, I wonder if it's not completely mundane.

I tend to spend time perusing and posting on Facebook. A complete time-fuck, that's what Facebook is.

For a while I've been thinking that my story is what I should be posting. In one or two sentences a day - whatever I can muster the time for - but to commit to a daily entry. My Facebook friends probably don't want (need, or can't handle) the truth. Really though - I'm not sure I want to share with each of them. They might not get it. They might be completely overwhelmed. They might misunderstand.

I know; it is a lot.

But you, my friend, you - in your strength, infinite wisdom, tortured soul - can manage.