I've picked up Sark's Succulent Wild Woman a few days ago. I haven't gotten through a quarter of it and I'm already inspired and energized.
But it also got me thinking about how I tame and quiet myself in order to be accepted, and I think this blog hasn't been an exception to that habit. So I've decided to be a little more raw in my writing here.
It's not that I've been lying or dishonest, it's more like I've been filtering myself to the unseen audience out there. Sometimes, when I get on blogger, I want to write about my period. And then I think, who wants to read about that? Sometimes I want to describe events in my life that seem really boring to most people. Again, I think of the audience, and I try to write about something else.
I've realized a couple things. One, I need to be more raw because it feels so wild to me. Like when you're getting ready for a big trip or move, and that tingly feeling in your tummy while you're on the brink of change sort of wildness.
Secondly, and I don't mean this in a terribly bad way, but I have no audience for my blog. I can tell, through my stats. I see my blog as an open theatre on the edge of the woods that has, perhaps, a couple of people walking through every other day. My words might be heard, but they're not sought. And that's perfectly fine. It's very freeing, actually.
And I want that wildness. I want to draw it down from those scary, black Florida clouds that cleanse everything in sight in 10 minutes. I want to take it in, that moment the crepe myrtles go from few-leafed to an explosion of pink and lavender blooms.
So, I'm going raw, which means my writing is probably going to get really bad and then, occasionally, better. In short, I'm going to write for myself, not an imaginary audience. But visitors and those passing by are still welcome here, near this stage on the edge of the woods.