The street where I live...

The street where I live...

Thursday, 26 January 2012

Please Don't Read This:

I still haven't really told anyone I'm doing this - writing this blog.

The first time someone said to me: "I have a blog" it was a fellow performer in a show.  I remember thinking: "You have a what now?"  I'd never even heard the term before.  And then, this same actor would later whisper to me, conspiratorially: "I have a new blog post up, and it's really deep."  Now, here is something I know for sure: if someone describes her/himself as "deep," you're probably not exactly dealing with Gandhi. In fact, you're probably dealing with the anti-Gandhi - a self-absorbed, delusional twit (I wanted to use a different word here, that is actually one letter away from "twit", but even though no one is reading this, I still feel I should watch the potty mouth.  My three-year-olds already swear like soldiers.)  So I am mildly ashamed to be doing this.  Which is silly as I don't want to seem judge-y to all the bloggers out there.  I read some great blogs on a regular basis.  And I love that people who otherwise might keep their awesome writing talent to themselves now have a forum because of the awesomeness of the interwebs.

So, I shouldn't feel shame.  But I do, a little bit.  I have been fortunate enough to have been writing professionally and academically for quite some time, but I have always avoided the self-analyzing, self-sharing kind of writing.  I guess all writing is a part of the writer being held up for scrutiny, but I'm just not an exhibitionist in that way.

I have written a few plays that I am very proud to have seen produced.  I have written many scripts for museums.  I love writing for theatre.  Love it.  And after years of doing it, I believe I have found my own, strong voice.  And my plays and scripts tend to share a common theme - they are almost always the product of my obsession with a historic person or event.  In other words, they are never about me.

J. and I went through a very large experience a few years ago.  We suffered through "unexplained infertility" for six years.  And we are artists, which is to say, we are poor.  So we went through the pain, trauma, joy, profundity and financial strain of IVF, twice.  For a couple of years now I have been playing with the idea of turning our IVF story into a play, but when I consider writing about ME without the artistic crutch of archival research, I get a bit phobic.  I have never been a monologuist.  It isn't my natural writer's instinct to write about myself.

But then, a couple of years ago, I joined Facebook and realized how fun it can be to share a bit of my inside world with the outside world.  "Friends" began to say: "Love your updates! You should start a blog!"

So here I am, several paces behind the band-wagon, starting a blog.

So far I have learned, from my epic four posts previous, that it is not as easy as it seems.  I do write quickly, as I always have, so the writing part itself isn't too hard.  But then I read back and think to myself: "Is this interesting AT ALL?"

J. is the only person who has read any of this so far, and as always he has been unfailingly supportive.  And he is always my best constructive critic. After the first couple of posts his advice was: "It's great honey, my only note - and this isn't a criticism - is that you should always stick to your own voice and don't try to be clever for the sake of being clever." (I'm paraphrasing, but it was something like that.)  And he is right.  When I read other blogs and see that a writer is effortlessly funny I also notice that s/he is only funny when the funny is naturally there.  S/he is serious when the serious is naturally there.  So, I will try to be me, in my own voice.

And, when I feel ready, I will post a link to this blog on my Facebook page.

Not today.

But soon.

That is my firm promise to all of you who are not reading this right now.

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