Been thinking. Been thinking a lot. What Anna said, for sure, makes sense to me.
Why do I blog? A few reasons: (a) I have a lot of time on my hands and an ISDN line (now I have that, I think the only reason to go back to work would be regular access to a photocopier), (b) I like having a record of cool places I found and even what I read/thought about at certain times, (c) I admit it; I like the idea that people read what I write. Even if it's shit. I get very excited when I come back here and see comments, (d) that whole on the internet, nobody knows you're a dog thang... that I get to "know" people premised on their words/brains/insights not on their looks/abs/clothes.
And I like having a certain degree of anonymity. I took my full name out out of my code. In fact, my name is not the one I use professionally, so it makes me a little harder to track down, anyhow. I choose who finds this site - amongst who I know, anyhow - and I like it that way. Control freakery, I hear ya.
How would I feel if my former employer/family/lover/brother/mother found this site? Well, I've been conscious that it is public, and have written with that in mind. I went back and deleted a whole load of early posts - before the blog was public - that on reflection were way too personal. But I'm the same person all the time - apart from my name - and theoretically, at least, wouldn't have a problem with anyone reading anything.
What I want, I guess, is public and private on my terms, the way I say. I want fame and dark glasses (ie the ability to hide). I want the space to honestly express my thoughts and views. Sure, I am - I hope - aware of other people's sensitivities, and there's a fair degree of self-censorship. I'd hate to be like the Too Much Information girlie, inapropriately sharing/spilling her guts all over the place. Like Friday, I wrote a whole piece about some employment troubles I had a few years back, and I posted it. When I saw it, published, and read it, I thought about it again. I wouldn't meet someone on a bus and tell them that story. So I killed my baby. Figuratively.
Like online, sometimes people ask for your picture. In the undigital age, I'd never have gone down to Boots and made a hundred copies of my favourite pic and handed it out to random commuters at Oxford Circus, so why would I send my pic to people I don't know? (Answer; I very rarely do, so don't bother asking). So what makes my personal stories OK?
Still unsure about this. I think in the twenty first century distributed society, I'm searching for some kind of community. And the self-selecting community of bloggers/online-in-some-way-people delivers that, some. Like I've got to know some super-smart/funny people and I like it. I'm not saying I'm Billy No Mates - although reading this back, you're probably gonna think that, but what the hell - but most of my "real" friends don't get the geek within, and I'm often conscious in social situations of keeping the bitch within under control.
In a non-stop urban society where local disconnection is the norm, the web magnifies that; my community of choice is like-minded people be they in Oz, on a message board, older/younger; I'm no longer defined by who I work with/live near. I choose how I define myself by the company I keep online.
So no answers, then. Is this like vanity publishing without an editor? Is it like one long-stand up gig without the gags (that's why I stopped, actually. I thought I needed too much attention, and it wasn't good for me)? Is it some kinda stream-of-consciousness bullshit, with cute 30 pixel almost-pics? Or is it just what people do now, and I'm a bandwaggon-jumper par excellence?
You tell me.
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