“You’re good with words and stuff. Although, doesn’t reading someone’s blog make you feel a bit like a pervert? Not a pervert but like, you’re reading all this stuff about someone’s life and they don’t know you’re reading it.”
Waking up from a nightmare of sorts, in which I was chided for not writing enough and doing nothing with my passion, it was nice to get a Facebook message slightly complimenting what I love to do. It also seemed coincidental that this friend would bring up the perverseness of reading a person’s blog because all that week I had been musing over honesty in blogs, my blog in particular. The internet is a strange place, where reality is bent. The internet makes it possible for a guy from Australia, who I met once through a friend, to message me about my blog that he has found through my Facebook. I found it funny that he considered himself to be a pervert because he had read my 21st century diary. In reality, I am the pervert who puts her innermost thoughts and day-to-day life on the internet and hopes people will read it. Yet, how much of my blog is complete brutal and utter honesty?
I’ve never liked total honesty. Maybe it’s because I’m a dreamer who likes the edges of reality blurred and dulled a bit. Or maybe I just can’t handle the truth, as Jacky boy would say. Either way, I started thinking about how honest I am in my writing. The writers I love, like David Sedaris, a funny writer because of his honesty in what a judgemental ass he can be, and Kurt Vonnegut, who is honest in his disdain for most of society and his love of being strange and God-less, impress me because they are no holds barred. I can’t say I write completely uncensored. I’m well aware that my family and certain friends will read this and that lingers in the back of my mind as I type each word. Is there a point in having a blog if I’m only giving a version of my truth and can I even dream of being a writer if I’m so afraid of putting myself 100 percent on the virtual paper?
I have no answers to these questions. They are merely seemingly pertinent questions brought on by an innocuous Facebook message. In all honesty, I doubt I’ll ever find their answer or need to.
So read on, perverts. Read on.