Growing up, I always kept a diary. It was my crutch, my closest confidante – the place where I’d detail my innermost thoughts and feelings (or, at least, the thoughts and feelings that were too embarrassing, mean-spirited or salacious to repeat to my girlfriends). So in other words, the good stuff.
Which is why the concept of blogging has always struck me as oxymoronic. A diary that’s intended to be read? What’s the point? Why keep a journal at all if you have to censor your thoughts and feelings, not only from family and friends, but from the entire cyber universe?
These are the questions that have kept me from joining the blogosphere – at least until now. But the thing is, the more blogs I continue to read, the more I feel like I might be missing out on some of the fun. I don’t keep a diary anymore, so innermost thoughts aside, there’s a lot of stuff that doesn’t get written down at all. And doesn’t get shared. And doesn’t get remembered.
So I’m going to give it a try. I’m going to think of my blog as a girlfriend, someone who might get the slightly censored version, but at least it’s something. And when it comes to the juicier version… I’ll just save that for my next book.