I've had blogger's block. It's not an accident. There's a reason.
I'm afraid to tell the truth.
Five-Trick Pony, as a workspace, lives sort of separately from my author-space. Separate from the whole promoting-Unnaturally-Green-thing, from my Twitter, from my weird alias Facebook, it's a space that's a little more sequestered than it is in the spotlight. (I like to think, anyway.) It's also been a space for me to speak on a host of random things that have crossed my mind (manicures, sweat, and other riches).
For the most part, I've kept it light. Mostly.
And now? I'm afraid to go dark.
Hence blogger's block.
In prior writing, I've alluded to some crazy shit that's been going down in my life (sometimes more blatantly than others), and since then I've debated with myself over how much I should disclose to my readers and internet comrades -- even though said "crazy shit" is THE EVENT of my current life.
You know have you have eras? The era I dated so-and-so. The era I studied abroad. The era I tried to go vegetarian but then I realized I loved sausage too much. The past six months of my life could probably be termed "The Era of Shit."
Pardon my French.
In truth, one day doesn't go by that this THING doesn't affect me in one way or another. This needling dysfunction. This slow, steady decay of my "former life."
Sounds juicy, right?
So why do I resist the urge to write about it? If this is the thing that I'm most focused on, the thing that "needs my writing," so to speak, why am I afraid to go there?
Maybe it has to do with reputation. The tarnishing of the sort of happy-go-lucky, witty-to-my-core, sometimes-vulnerable, but always-resilient image I tried to create in Unnaturally Green and on these very e-pages. None of that was a lie. When I wrote my memoir, I wasn't even aware of it. So I gave it my best shot. The light, without the dark.
There's also the reputation of the others involved. People who may or may not be reading this in the confines of their fortress because they're too afraid to come forward and face it -- not just me, but their demons. Honestly, I don't know why I'm protecting them. They may not even be reading this. Rumor has it they're not nearly as broken up about it as I am. They've been on vacations all over the world. They've feasted and celebrated and called upon an impressive array of pinch-hitter acquaintances. Maybe I'm protecting them because I once felt closeness to them. Maybe because I'm worried it will sink these folks further down their rabbit hole of dysfunction, into thinking they're completely and utterly right, and into thinking I'm so obstreperously and outrageously and gosh-darn crazily wrong! for speaking the truth.
Today, I woke up, did the usual, then read this post by Canadian blogger Schmutzie. She reminded me why it's so important to write and self-reflect, sometimes privately, sometimes publicly. And I was inspired.
The reasons to write about yourself are countless and varied. Writing helps to clarify, to investigate, to work through issues you can't work through by staying silent, to try to understand those life "characters" who truly baffle you.... To accumulate an audience of readers and listeners, so you, and they, don't feel so alone.
I'm not sure how or when I'll be able to write about everything so openly and honestly. The so-called Crazy Shit is a tricky topic because it involves a cast of characters, and a fraught dynamic, that is difficult to capture without my doing at least some finger-pointing. And I don't want it to be that, or to seem like the writing of a person determined to absolve herself.
But maybe that's what it has to be?
Whatever it is, it's my truth.
Hopefully one day I'll be able to tell it.