I know, I know. I haven’t really been around lately and that’s partially because I’m busy but also because there’s something on my mind that I don’t have the guts to publish just yet.
But this totally made my day (the last paragraph of the post).
And if you’re not reading Sideways Rain well, then, you’re dead to me I just handed you your new favorite blog.
Hi! I’m La, and I run a little site called The Rad Fanny, and today I’m the final blogger sitting in for the lovely Miss Clink as she rounds out her business trip in Boston.When Clink asked me to guest post for her, my immediate reaction that was of pure terror, because Clink? Has been my number one favorite blogger since she started writing, and the thought of filling in for her is more than mildly intimidating. Not to mention the group of tremendously gifted writers I’d have to follow this week, being in the final slot. But I totally heart her, and I’ve followed her from the very beginning, from her very first post, and I’ve always had a sort of blog crush on her. And while I’m flattered beyond words that she chose me? Yah, I’m still mostly petrified. You can imagine the thoughts that ran through my head; First it was “No way, I can’t do this, nuh uh, it’s Clink, for crying out loud!” and then I thought, “Bring it.” I can totally do this, right? Right. So here I am. And let me state for the record that I think Clink is so pretty and charming and funny and smart and brilliant and wonderful and makes me smile every single frickin day, and there is no one better to email with all day complaining about how sick we are, and no, there isn’t a contest for the best and most flattering guest blog post, why would you even ask that?
I’ve been trying to decide what to write about all week, because for me? Writing is never really a process. I sit down, I start typing, and I go with whatever comes out. But I wanted to write something special and of substance for my time here, and I guess when I think about Clink and blogging and all you wonderful gals (and guys, sorry) and how it brought us all together? It makes me want to write about blogs and the wonderful friendships they create. That’s right, I’m totally sapping out for the final guest blogger post. Deal. It’s something I’ve written about before on my own blog, many, many times, and it’s something I have a lot of experience with.
Because while we all know about the lovefest between Molly and Clink? I have my very own internet BFF. And she is divine. We began our relationship three years ago, and I have to tell you that I don’t know where I would be without her. In the beginning, it was just comments on each other’s blogs every now and then, and then it quickly blossomed into 8,452 text messages a day, MySpace messages, some questionable cell phone pictures of interesting things and/or body parts followed by “is this normal?”, packages of goodies and birthday presents and wedding presents and house warming presents and little cards just to say hello that we’ve sent to each other (because we know each other’s real, whole names! And addresses! And phone numbers! And life stories!), and emailing and chatting every single day, and she really is probably the closest person in the world to me. And the secrets she knows about me? That no one knows? Not even Andy? Could be very, very incriminating. I’m just saying.
She has seen me through every up and down I’ve had in my life in the past three years, and it’s my hope that I’ve done the same for her. And while we totally have each other’s back and are emotional rocks for each other, we also spend most days talking about poop and how much we want to go home and hate working and would rather be eating on the couch in our pajamas. And today, it was emailing her the first draft of this post saying, “Do you think this is any good?”, which is the seventh grade equivalent of, “Do you think they all will like me? Do you? Do you?” And as always, she knows exactly the right things to say to me. She knows my fears, my dreams, my strengths and my weaknesses, and we always joke about how we would totally get married if we could. And speaking of weddings? She is absolutely coming to mine. Because I couldn’t get married without her there.
It’s all about camaraderie. And it’s all because of this little blogging community we’ve created - one without bias, one with complete abandonment of our guards, one of complete comfort and belonging - that I was able to “meet” her. And able to “meet” all of you. And I love every single one of you. And I think it’s wonderful that blogging has allowed us all to become so close, even if it’s “just” on the screen. Because I think it’s almost better than real life. Because there is no judgment. It’s just unconditional internet love. And I love it. And I love Clink, and I thank her for letting me spend a little time with all of you today.
Ok, so now it’s time for you to come home, Clink. Because we miss you. Kthanksbai.
I’m Mike from I Got Nothin. You might know me as the guy who defended M’s right to keep the Patriots garbage can. You certainly know Molly. And you may or may not know me as Molly’s boss. At least for a little while longer.What you probably don’t know me as is Renee’s husband. And, well, hey, anything wedding/engagement related is pretty popular in these parts, so I’ll do my best to keep that going until Clink returns.
So, here is how I became the luckiest guy in the world:
Renee and I knew each other five years before we started going out just prior to our senior year of college. We lived in the same area and met while working the same summer job. I went to school in New York, she in Vermont. We graduated and got jobs in each location. Hello long distance relationship.
I knew Renee was the one before we started going out. I’m not sure why. I just knew. So the engagement was just when, not if. And when became about a year after we graduated college. I had purchased the ring before and had even asked her dad for her hand. I can’t help it. I’m as traditional as they come.
We made plans to be home in Connecticut for a summer pops concert in the local park. That was on Saturday night. On Friday, I had said that I wanted to go to the beach and just hang out. She was fine with that. More importantly, it was no surprise. We loved going to this beach and just walking along, especially at night. That was the best time to go.
So, we meet at my parents’ and head down to the beach - in my Chevy Chevette. I know. I know, but it was four wheels and an engine.
We get to the beach and we are walking along on a gorgeous clear night. Just talking. Holding hands. Feeling good. And, well, a little nervous. We would normally walk to the end of the beach, but knowing what was to come, I sort of stopped us short just to admire the dark ocean.
Then I reached into my pocket, pulled out the ring and completely surprised her with my proposal. After a bunch of hugs and kisses, I was like, “So is that a yes?!” It was.
As we were walking back from the beach, Renee was all excited. She wanted to tell her parents. And she really wanted to talk to her sister, who lived in Florida. By this point, we were coming off the beach and there’s a yacht club nearby. Outside the yacht club was a limo. I was like, let’s go ask the limo driver to use the phone. I’m sure there is one and he wouldn’t care.
Not realizing I just fed her a line, she started toward the white stretch limo. And as she got closer, the driver simply said, Congratulations. Yup, I arranged the limo. I had another couple go to my parents, ride the limo down and then take my car back to my parents’ house.
So inside the limo was champagne, a rose and a card. She was beside herself. We enjoyed champagne while taking a nice ride around the beach area. I can’t wait to tell my parents, she said. Little did she know…that when we arrived back at my parents’ house, her parents were there waiting. I had arranged for them to come over so they could be there, along with my parents, and we could all celebrate the engagement together.
We’ve been married 13 years. Pretty cool, eh? That’s how I became the luckiest guy in the world. And still am.
April 12, 2007
Hi Clink,
Just thought I’d drop you a line, being that you are the inspiration for my blogging and I linked you on my page. (You know, nothing like just throwing it out there in the VERY FIRST LINE OF CORRESPONDENCE, because that’s not creepy at ALL. Oh no. And that shrine I have to you? Yeah, nevermind that. It’s nothing. Really.) Thought I’d just “introduce” myself ( No shit, sherlock.) Truth be told, it was reading “Such Great Heights” that made me think about writing a blog of my own. I know that I’m no where near being a great writer (uh, hi Barbie if you were, then you would PROBABLY realize that “nowhere” is in fact, one word. Way to go. Barbie the Journalist.), but I just wanted to say thank you for the inspiration, and if you get a chance, I’d love for you to have a read. (Because really, you’re like a blogging celebrity to me, and hi, I sound oh so desperate here that hopefully you’ll take pity, and pick me! choose me! love me!!! ….Okaaaaay Meredith….) Maybe you’ll like it enough to include in your blogroll. Maybe not, and thats ok too. (Not really. If you hate it, you’re totally going to crush my blogging dreams and I am going to wither and die and give up all hope of becoming a writer. Because YOU didn’t like my writing. Take that, inspiration! How’s that for guilt?! Huh?! Huh?!!!!)
Best of luck to you figuring out the freelancing situation, and don’t worry about the cookies- they’ll mean a lot to M. And really, thats all that matters. (Of course I’m going to reference today’s post, because YOU ARE MY INSPIRATION DAMMIT!!! IT’S NOT LIKE I HAVEN’T MADE THAT CLEAR ALREADY, NO?!!!! So please write me back!!!! I’m so your biggggest fannnnn!!!!)
Always,
bloggingbarbie
www.wordpress.bloggingbarbie.com
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Hi Barbie,
Thank you so much for taking the time to introduce yourself. It pretty much made my (very rainy, very cold, very un-spring-like) day to hear that I inspired someone to start blogging. You may not be thanking me so much when you post something and the Internet Trolls come out of the woodwork to bash you (I’ve been there many times), but for now let’s just bask in the glow of your new blog, shall we? Your blog which, by the way, I’ve added to my blogroll.
Again, thanks for reading and taking the time to email. I look forward to reading more of your blog!
-Clink
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Yes, that was our first “interaction.”
Looking back, it’s a miracle she responded as kindly as she did. But you know what? That’s just her. And yeah, she’s pretty great like that. I realize that now you’ve read my internal rantings of what a *cough* toolshed *cough* I was when I first reached out to her, I probably should back up a bit, and introduce myself to y’all.
Hi, I’m Blogging Barbie. If you already know me, I’m totally driving you around in my bloggingworld pink Audi with diamond encrusted headlights. And if you aren’t already readers (which hello, you should be, because Clink picked me! Chose me! Loved me! to write a guest post and I swear I’m not a toolshed anymore), you really should be, and just totally read already. But I digress. Where was I. Oh, that’s right. Clinky. Teehee.
So, aside from sending her a frighteningly creepy email (now that I re-read it months later), it still amazes me that she responded. Now that I “know” her even better, I can truly say that she is everything as a person I thought she’d be, way back when I was first introduced to the word of “personal blogging.” You see, I view Clink in the way I’m sure a lot of you do. She’s my blogging big sister. Sure, Miss Molls and her share those internet BFF necklaces, and I got to know Miss Molls and her blog through Clink. (And yes, I felt super cool then when Miss Molls blogrolled me, because dude, I was recognized by my big sister’s cool friend, thanks for asking, But Molly? Clink? I’m so not over the fact that you couldn’t like, spring for the triple BFF necklace, because I AM HER LITTLE SISTER DON’T YOU KNOW AND I NEED TO BE INCLUDED IN EVERYTHING. Ahem.) But Clink? She was the first to share with me relationship advice. Fashion advice. Career advice. Blogging advice. She’s been everything you could hope for in a blogging big sister. And for that, I’m thankful.
The blogging world can be a scary place, with us all, nonchalantly throwing our feelings out there and posting on the INTRANET things such as: “OMFG we totally drunkenly stole a sign last night,” or “I’m sorry, I know this is gross, but I’m having serious stomach issues with x,y and z symptoms…” Or, my personal favorite: “WTF? Why is my significant other being such an ass?! God. Why why doesn’t he KNOW and UNDERSTAND why I will break out into tears for no apparent reason, at all?! “
We rehash all the gory details (and TMI) that at times, our real life friends don’t even know.
So yeah, blogging can be scary. The potential judgment, internet trolls, and simply opening up and putting such intensely personal thoughts on paper (ok, HTML, or whatever, not Computer Genius Barbie here, folks) for anyone who may stumble upon your site to read. Perhaps that’s why we seek comfort where we can in our anonymity…but are too passionate about writing and communicating with others to cloak ourselves completely.
Clink has brought us the “Would! You! Be! Mad!” game. She’s also given name to what so many of us reference as “the crazy.” She’s also recently gone back to incorporating her old ranting posts that are so shockingly sincere and full of emotion, we’re right there with her. Only this time around, it’s a wiser Clink. One that has matured with time and growth of her career, relationship with M, personal blogging and her friendships. She’s still the same old Clink, but wiser. Funnier. And if it’s possible, even more heartfelt. She’s everything a big sister should be; not afraid to check in when she feels as if something is “not right,” will eagerly discuss relationship issues and be there to give you the career advice you need as well as genuine reassurance that things will work out. She’s been through it, and it has made her all the wiser, all the better, woman she is today. And yes, lessons learned from watching the “Rock of Love” are totally included in that statement. It’s all about balance, Internets.
So hurry back, Clinky. I miss my blogging big sister.
Actually, I think I can speak for the entire blogging community when I say, we all miss you.
(And I’m sure your readers are sick of hearing rantings from your annoying little sibling. I mean, gosh. Who does she think she is? Pssshhhawwwww.)
Hiya, Clinkers and Clinkees.
I’m Peter.
When our delightful hostess first asked me to guest post, I replied, “I’ll do it for… FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS.”
She said, “No.”
I said, “I’ll do it for… TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS.”
She said, “No.”
I said, “I’ll do it for… THE GLORY AND HONOUR.”
She said, “Are you still talking?”
Long story short (fat chance of that with me) here I am. Finally. Every time I sat down to write this during the past three days, the power has gone out. For nine hours on Sunday!! Thank you, Hurricane Noel. Jerk. (And what kind of name is that? Isn’t Noel the name of the pussyish dude that kept losing out to Ben in trying to capture Felicity’s heart?)
And let me tell you that nine hours is a long assed time for me to sit in silence, alone with my own thoughts. Some of you have read them!
When the lights eventually came on, and I started thinking about what I could write here, I realized that this audience was made up almost entirely of wonderful (and in some cases, single) women. So, hiiiiiiii there. You are all looking lovely today.
Especially YOU. Come chat after this post?
Where was I?
Oh yes, I was feeling like I’d be the least unappealing male guard at a women’s prison.
Or more fittingly, and less insultingly, the bartender at a giant bachelorette party?
Now, if you’ve read my blog before… Thanks! You seem very smart. And if you haven’t… You disgust me.
On my blog, you never know what you are going to get. Depending on my mood, you could find pop culture references from 1995, sissified poetry, short fiction involving Muppet spousal abuse or sex with The Golden Girls, or thousands of words of me gushing about my ADORABLE niece.
It’s a crapshoot, people.
But, considering the audience here, I figured that I should show more of my soft side. Try to make a connection with you all. Share a bit of myself.
And then I thought…
Naaaaaaaaaw.
That would make too much sense.
I decided to let my freak flag fly.
BUT, then I realized that this is Clink’s blog, not mine. I should really try to fit in with the theme. Instead of the flag flying, I’ll just wear my freak t-shirt. With a long sleeve T underneath and jeans. (See? Clink writes about fashion… stuff.)
I’ve decided to write about weddings.
More specifically, I’ve decided to write about what a wedding would be like if I planned it.
First things first… my groomsmen. And quite a rogue’s gallery this will be:
- Dude #1 has a bit of a history of urinating whenever and wherever the mood strikes. Drop-off slot in a video store door. Middle of the street in front of a cop. Etc.
- Dude #2 will show up 15 minutes late, then hang out in the staging area shirtless, with his pants open, slippers on and strumming a guitar until the mood strikes to get ready.
- Dude #3 will swear constantly in two languages and drink vodka out of something the size of a bucket.
- Dude #4, at some point during the weekend, will strip naked, tuck “himself” between his legs and rock his best “Buffalo Bill” from SILENCE OF THE LAMBS. It… It is going to happen.
During the reception, we are going to have a street hockey game in the parking lot. Don’t worry though, it won’t be shirts vs. skins. I am going to have jerseys made with “Groom’s Side” and “Bride’s Side.” Class, right? Though since we are mixing Canadians with booze and hockey, there will be some brawling. Blood will wipe right off a bride’s dress, eh?
The cake… Gotta be made up of cupcakes. They are like LITTLE TINY CAKES. Come on! Deal breaker!!!
I assume we’ll write our own vows. I hope that chica isn’t put off by me referring to her as a “stand-up broad.” Or “chica,” for that matter.
As for the music, I feel like I can compromise here. A DJ and a band…
As long as it is a Poison tribute band. Preferably called “Arsenic.” Though I can be a little flexible. I just want to hear some “Every Rose Has Its Thorn.”
However, if I hear a single note of “Mony Mony,” somebody is getting cut.
I also want to hear both Jack Wagner’s “All I Need” and Michael Damian’s “Rock On.” As well as any other song released by a 1980s soap opera star. Deal breaker!!! (And I’ll yell “Deal breaker!!” repeatedly apparently.)
And I am probably going to have to marry a woman with blue or green eyes so that I lessen the risk of hearing “Brown Eyed Girl.”
We’ll be registered at KFC. What can I say? I loves me some popcorn chicken.
The honeymoon will, of course, be spent at the Basketball Hall of Fame in Springfield, Mass.
As for the wedding night, well, “bondage” has so many undeserved negative connotations…
I genuinely hope that this story — lousy with inaccuracies though it may be — doesn’t keep me from having a wedding some day. Though I’d be okay with it getting me out of ever having to give input on the planning of one.
What’s that?
Oh, fiiiiiiiiiiiiine. Yes, that WAS all a bunch of big talk. I’d probably be all sorts of excited to help plan a real wedding. Shhhhhhhh. Can’t even let me act all manly for a minute?
Thanks for letting me come here to play with you all today.
We miss you, Clink!
Rock on.
As you know, Clink is away on business and has left her blog in the capable hands of some of her blog friends. All of us were honored when she asked us, but I consider myself the most honored since not only did she ask me to write, she gave me the “keys” to her blog. Let this be a warning to all you future guest bloggers. I can control what you say! Mwahaha.
Alright, enough creepy blogger. As most of you know, I’m Molly from These Little Moments. Clink and I started reading each other’s blogs last year, and before we knew it we became full on Internet Best Friends Forever. Or IBFF as we like to call it. If I was into girls, I would totally want to date her. Clink and I have more in common than many people I know in real life. We email all day, every day. Usually starting with a complaint that it’s not Friday yet and venturing off into everything from relationships, to TV to blogging to food. We talk about food a lot, often planning which restaurants we’re going to visit when we finally meet.
Oh yeah, that. We haven’t actually met yet. We’ve talked about meeting in excess, but up until now our schedules just haven’t allowed it. BUT, we’re pushing for early December, so hopefully we’ll be able to give you an OMG I FINALLY MET CLINK/MOLLY!!!! post sometime in the near future.
Her M and my Michael already know about us. Both of them thought it was a little weird that we met each other online, but as time as gone on I think they’re pretty used to it. Especially after she and I spent our entire Vegas vacations texting each other.
But while our men know about us, our friends really don’t. Some of mine do since I don’t write anonymously, but NONE of hers. This came up as we were discussing her bachelorette party. If I go, how would she explain who I was? Women would see right through the “we met on The Knot!” bullshit.
We obviously can’t tell the truth. If we spill who I really am, she’ll lose her cover all together and that would mean the end of Clink as we know her. Of course that’s the last thing we want to happen.
So, I’m leaving it up to you guys. Come up with our story. How did we meet? How did we become so close? Clink and I will judge the best story and if plausible, we’ll actually use it on her friends. And maybe you’ll get a prize. I don’t know what yet, but perhaps it will be in the form of homemade cookies. Because Clink makes really good cookies. (Like how I just volunteered her to bake? As her IBFF I have that power.)
Can’t wait to see what you come up with!
A jet plane that will probably crash.
Seriously, why do I have to fly to Boston? I could walk to Boston if given enough time.
Barring that, I would much rather take the Acela Express. But, according to my boss, this “flying” thing is a much more efficient way of traveling and GOOD LORD I AM GOING TO DIE IT HAS BEEN NICE KNOWING YOU ALL THANKS FOR BEING AWESOME.
Alternate reason I might die: those hangover symptoms that I was bitching about on Wednesday? Well, it turns out that they were actually flu symptoms: fever, sore throat, achy body, runny nose, WANTING TO JUST DIE. Sucks. Am so sick. In fact, I come to you right now from my BED where I have been since 6pm and despite having taken NyQuil, I am still not asleep yet and I am not happy about that. Fuck you evil thing that is doing this to my body just in time for the weekend. Fuck you.
Anyway. I’m gone all of next week. Like seriously out of commission (or dead). “Business trip” during which: a) I will probably find out more about my assistant than I ever wanted to know, b) I won’t be able to sleep because M’s not going to be next to me and c) I will try my best to act like a responsible adult because omigod, I am the boss in the situation. Scary.
I’m going to try to pop in every once in a while but that will probably only be to whine. And as interesting as I find my whining, I’m fairly certain y’all would like something of substance to read while I’m away so guess what! There will be guest posters! For the first time EVER on Such Great Heights. (*Wipes tear, thinks about how her little blog is all growed up.)
The guest posters have been hand-picked by me because, well, because I like them. Very scientific, I know.
Anyway - enjoy them! Because if I die in a fiery plane crash over Connecticut (I’m bad with geography, Connecticut is between New York and Boston, right?), I’m counting on them to keep this thing going.
No pressure, guys.
It’s Sunday night and I’m trying to tune out the World Series, especially because I have to go to Boston next week for business and Boston - for a Yankee fan - will be unbearable if and when the Red Sox clinch.
(Tangent: there is, however, a restaurant called Clink (!) in Boston, so, really, Boston and I, we’ll be okay.)
Thursday’s post felt good. You know, I initially wrote it a few days after it actually happened but it languished in my drafts folder for almost a month before I was ballsy enough to post it.
That sounds dramatic. It’s just a post, right?
It used to be, back when I wrote first, thought second.
I don’t know when that changed.
I went through my archives this weekend, mainly to do some cleaning up (five people used to read this blog, two of whom I eventually met in real life and thus I was much more liberal with certain details). I ended up both creating a Favorites tab and being a little bit shocked at my honesty (hi, I’m Clink and I used to have pregnancy scares slash not eat slash ONCE GOT MY PERIOD ALL OVER M’S BOXERS and wow, um, he still wants to marry me?).
I miss that. It’s not that I haven’t been honest lately - I’ve just censored myself a bit. The “bad” or the “not so pretty” has gone unwritten or unposted. I’ve made up the difference with wedding posts (another tab, created this weekend, brought to you by Spare Time and Lots of It) and “what dress should I buy?” posts, when, really, I was dying to get some things off my chest.
Things like, um, the world doesn’t rain a constant parade of sunshine and fairy dust on you when you get engaged. Life is still hard, relationships are still hard, living together is HARD, balance is perhaps hardest of all.
I’m not as insane as I used to be, I don’t think. Mainly because of this blog, because of this outlet, because of the support that has come via Such Great Heights. So why did I stop? When I’m feeling insane, why wouldn’t I write about it? It’s pretty obvious that writing about it? Helps.
I used to not care about being judged. I mean, the harsh comments and the harsh emails hurt then and they hurt now (and it kills me to type that because knowledge of that creates even more power in the hands of the anonymous) but I know I’m going to rub some people the wrong way and I have to be okay with that. The like me! Like me! Like me! aspect of my personality has never been my favorite trait and it really needs to just shut the hell up. I mean, I don’t necessarily like every person behind every blog that I read and there’s no Blog Constitution out there saying that I have to. The same goes for people who read my blog - they don’t have to like me. Hell, for all I know, the 98% of you who don’t comment might just come here to make yourselves feel better because whew, at least I’m not as crazy as her.
So more honesty, is the point of this long-winded exercise in distraction (Dear Colorado, Please score. Love, Clink). Less self-censorship. Less fearing what anyone thinks. Less diluting myself into someone whose life revolves around pretty dresses and her pretty wedding. There’s that part of me, sure, but there’s also the part of me that crawled into bed at 6pm on Friday night, pulled the covers over my head and sobbed for two hours, for no reason and every reason at all.
I’m that girl too.
Much of my Sunday was spent in my pajamas, in my bed, messing around on M’s laptop.
Some of the resulting evidence (please excuse the wet, tangled hair; I was post-the only shower I took all weekend):
The weekend was non-eventful. I did get out of my pajamas a few times – to go shopping in SoHo, to eat lobster rolls in Nolita, to see (and laugh very hard at) Superbad, to inhale Mexican on the Upper East Side, to spend $54.98 at Duane Reade when I only went in for paper towels.
But mostly, it was me and the laptop and M beside me, with his books.
Mostly, it was me staring at a blank screen, waiting for divine inspiration to come and possess my hands and type the sort of short story that brings prizes and accolades and financial independence in the form of feature film rights.
I haven’t been writing. Other than, you know, this thing that I do here. I haven’t been writing fiction, I haven’t been writing the short stories that prompted one of my professors – himself a published author – to tell me mine was the best undergraduate writing he’d seen in years and years of teaching. I haven’t been writing and, as a result, and I know this is going to sound odd, and I don’t really care – my soul feels cluttered.
I have all of these half-ideas and characters and storylines running through my head and they have no home. To paraphrase that song that was very popular as a result of Grey’s Anatomy, if I get them on paper they can stop threatening the life they belong to. So I should do that, get them on paper. Or up on screen. Or anywhere but my head, where the ideas just tend taunt me, upset about the fact that they are just that – ideas.
I’m curious as to how many of you bloggers also write fiction. I know that they don’t go hand in hand, but I also know that in many cases, they do. I know that blogging, for many, myself included, is a form of exercising the muscle. If you write every day, the bicep of your craft is going to be toned, is going to look stunning in a halter. (I think of the writing muscle as a bicep; I have no explanation). Some of you (hi, Pete! How are things in Canada today?) incorporate fiction into your blogs, which I so admire. I’m more terrified of presenting my fiction than I am of laying my neuroses bare to be judged.
So, tell me. Do you blog just to blog? Do you blog to keep the bicep fit, or get it into shape? Do you blog in lieu of fiction writing? Or do you (cough overachiever cough) manage to do both?
Update to a previous post: Oh, and Mike - Molly’s boss and one of my true BlogFriends - has put up his own take on the Great Patriots Garbage Can Debate of ‘07: http://mikesgotnothin.blogspot.com/ It helped me to understand why the damn garbage can is so important to M. I think I’m going to, reluctantly, let him keep it. But I’m going to make sure it is stored out of view, UNDERNEATH the desk. See? Compromise.
About the blog.
Last night, after Rock of Love (and, ok, fine I’ll admit it, after the damn Scott Baio show that I don’t even know if I like but has earned a spot on the DVR series pass list anyway), I told him.
Something came over me, a sense of calm (how dramatic am? Omigod, I am so dramatic, but it’s the truth), and I just knew that I could tell him and that it would be okay.
So I did. And it was.
The first words out of his mouth were, “I’m so freaking happy you’re still writing.” He then disclosed that he knew I kept a journal early on in our relationship but that I seemed to have stopped doing so. He was worried that writing was something that he took away from me the bigger a part of my life he became, the more time-consuming our relationship was.
I told him about how many hits a day I get and how I have a band of readers that I love and how, um, I didn’t exactly meet Molly on The Knot but instead through her blog.
I told him how I write about him, and us, but how I have taken extra precautions to protect both his privacy and my own.
I asked if he wanted to read the blog, if he wanted the URL, if he wanted to know the title and what I go by. He left it up to me.
And, truth be told, I wouldn’t be one hundred percent comfortable, or honest, if I knew he was reading every day. I would begin to censor myself – something I promised myself I would never do.
So I told him that I would send him some posts that I felt were representative of the blog. He, of course, understood because a) he’s awesome and b) he’s awesome and have I mentioned that c) he’s awesome? He said, “I wouldn’t ever ask to read your journals, so I would never ask to read your blog. Everyone needs something that’s purely their own.”
He was a little taken aback, I think, once he thought it over and realized that I have had a “secret” for two years. He held my face in his hands and looked me in the eye and said, “you know you can tell me anything, right? Anything.”
In response, I told him that, yes, I trust him implicitly, I trust him with my life, but the blog started before he and I were even official and then it just kind of…stayed a secret. I didn’t mean to hurt him and he knows that.
“Is there anything you want to say? On the blog? To my readers?”
“Yes: Hi Axxxx’s readers. I’m M. I’m sure you’re enjoying her writing, as she’s a rock star. I’m so glad she’s writing, as writers need to write and she is certainly a writer even if she does something else for a living. Oh, and please buy her first book when it comes out.”
Sigh. I love him. And I love the feeling of freedom that comes with having told him the only secret, really, I’ve ever kept from him.
