The Personality Behind Closed Doors

In my office keyboarding these words, I am, for awhile, the sole occupant of this building. My office door is closed. At some future minute in this day I will push the button labled, "Publish Post".

When the button is pushed, my words and thoughts will become available to anybody in the world who seeks them or may stumble across them. The value of truth in the words they will read is known only to me. So it is with others; who post their own words and thoughts, and offer comments on the words and thoughts keyed by their fellow bloggers.

Traveling among the sites of blogland, I sometimes stop to wonder if I am visiting the real personality of the writer, or a fictional personality created by the writer. As writers, that's part of what we do---create personalities. By our work we project out to the public fictional personalities. We have an expectation, or hope, forms of relationships will develop between the reader and our created personalities.

I wonder how many of us do the same for ourselves as bloggers.

I have formed a myriad of perceptions about the many blogger personalities I visit. Some I perceive to be shy, gentle, non-confrontational. Some I perceive as aloof, selective in their intervention and sharing. Others seem arrogant, self-serving. I recognize bullies, needing control. There are some who appear to me insecure, defensive. I see some as seeking popularity, a "following". Maturity of perspective and immaturity of perspective I see too. Some seem open, honest. A few seem manipulative. Some are students, some are teachers. And so it goes.

My perceptions form in my mind visions of real people whom, all but maybe one or two I will never meet.

If it does come to pass I meet the one or two, I wonder if the real personality will be too the blogger personality.

There is no "question of the day" here, nor expectation for comments. These are only the ramblings of a dry drunk; maybe seeking a clearer perspective on my own personality.

I'll push now the button, "Publish Post".

Maybe Appearance

Last week, as I wrote longhand in my Doodle Pad the last few paragraphs of a short story, my regular Tuesday morning breakfast companion joined me at the table. After taking her regular seat across from me she asked what I had been writing about. I verbally gave her a brief summary of the story. She begged to read it.

After a bit, I conceded and handed her the several hand-written pages. With them, I cautioned her it was a first draft and the story might not be very easy to follow. She said she understood.

Watching her read, I saw her develop an ever deepening frown. Finished, she handed the pages back to me without comment. I knew the answer, but had to ask the question. "Well?" I said.

She said, "Sorry. I didn't like it at all."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Too much profanity. I don't like that much profanity, especially some of the words you used."

"Okaaaay." I said. "I'll keep that in mind."

This Tuesday my breakfast companion arrived as usual, took her regular seat across from me and asked, "Well, what have you been up to for the past week?"

"Not much." I said. "I've been writing and looking for a way to make some money. By the way, I did a minor rewrite of the story you read last week. Would you like to read it again?"

"Sure, why not. You changed it some?" she said.

"Yes. " I said. Then I handed her the three or four computer printed pages of the story.

I watched her as she read the story again. This time she smiled a few times and even chuckled a time or two.

When finished, she handed the pages back to me and said, "Geez that is pretty good. You've made it an enjoyable read now. Last time was too profane and made me uncomfortable.

"Thank you." I said. We then moved on to other topics of conversations.

This is true, and I found my friend's reaction to the two versions of the story to be very interesting because during my minor rewrite, I had not removed one single word of the profanity. In fact, I hadn't changed much of the basic story.

There is no particular point to this post. It's just a little diversion for me away from something else I'm struggling to write which is dark and ugly. I don't enjoy writing dark and ugly stuff. But, I must learn.

The Stray

It's in rewrite. I'm taking it in a different direction.

Thanks for your valuable input to the original version.

Erik

$ Gone Fish'n $

I am now almost financial chum-bait for the sharks.

The foreseeable future will find me fishing for money with intensity. The tackle box is stocked. The reels are oiled.

From time-to-time I will row ashore to visit you. Please leave the beacon on.

Erik

Bardawill's Place

I went over to Bardawill's place yesterday (see my preceeding post). I didn't get laid, didn't get drunk, didn't get fed----just left with my tail between my legs. Go visit her and Lisa s. http://dazeofwhineandroses today. You'll have fun.

I'm going to spend the day with R.J. today. Won't get laid there either (he doesn't know any women), won't get drunk either (Ivan drank it all), won't get fed either (R.J. is on a diet), so, guess I'll just chase my tail.

Have a wonderful day.

Do You Experiment?

On Monday past, our friend E. Ann Bardawill http://somethingfell.blogspot.com gave us, as writers, a substantive homework assignment. Please refer to her post titled "Lentils and Flattery". The essay exam is Monday.

In preparation of my own response to Ms. Bardawill's assignment, one fundamental question continues to creep to the front of my mind. That question is: What genre?

Recent posts by other of our fellow writers, Jason Evans http://clarityofnight.blogspot.com and M.G. Tarquini http://mgtarquini.blogspot.com for example, have demonstrated their willingness, and ability, to write good work outside the sphere of their preferred genre. Their deviations cause me to wonder how many others of you do the same. And if you do, how radical is your departure (i.e. you write romance for publication----you play with horror).

Me? I already told you. I haven't figured out my primary genre yet. I just love to tell stories about people.