I’ve noticed I only like to use photos of me that show my ‘best’ side.
Some of my sides are more beast than best. Sorry about that, folks, it’s how it is. But not how it is in photos. Talking to Philip yesterday. We were talking about blogging – writing, more specifically. He talked about how he edited his blog writing to the extent it became diminished for him. Hope I used the right words there, Philip, or at least captured the feeling behind the meaning.
I usually write on the first pass – do an edit for spelling (ideally), a second read to get the meaning right, and then click the publish button. I write in my head first, reading it ‘out loud’ in my head in a effort to get the reading flow ok. The other trick here, is of course, writing for an audience. I know that there aren’t thousands of people reading my blog, but I equally know that there is more than just me.
Hello to you, by the way, welcome.
So, because of this, when I write I try to suck my gut in and try to look stronger, smarter and generally a better specimen than I am. I’m also concerned about having literary spinach stuck between my teeth. And I wonder why this is. I mean it’s not as though I’m hoping someone will look at my writing and think hmmm, fine use of the comma, nice pace and control of language; my genes are urging me to mix them with his and start a linguistically superb master race of superbeings. I’ve never felt that. Who would?
And yet I continue to wonder if what I’ve written makes sense, is spelled according to the prevailing norm, and is entertaining and engaging. I like to pretend I write for myself, but to be honest, I suck my gut in – see above… What other people think of my writing matters to me. How other people feel when they see my photos (and more, photos of me) matters to me.
I feel shallow. Bet Hunter S Douglas wouldn’t have had this angst.