I am so fucking frustrated with the semi-anonymous nature of this blog and what it means for my writing.
Oh how easy it was to write when the boy I wrote about was mine: When I owned him and I owned our stories and they were mine to share as I wanted. The only rule I had for myself was to never write anything that would surprise or hurt him. And that was an easy guideline to follow because our communication was pretty damn good.
Now there are complications in writing about what is going on in my life because I don’t have that simplicity; those complexities stifle and paralyse me into silence.
Not least because there are thoughts that swim around in my head that I have no interest in discussing with those involved because we simply aren’t close enough, it’s irrelevant. They are personal puzzles and musings of the kind that I will probably never bring up with those involved, but that I would put out here as thought experiments if it wasn’t for the fact that those involved might read it, and I still have that rule about ‘no surprise or hurt’.
Couple that with a lack of zingish potential and the fact that most non-personal topics that I’m interested in talking about have been covered in the 5+ years I have been writing, and I find myself stymied here on the blog.
I’m trying to draw vague and non-specific stories out of things that are going on with me, out of thoughts that are floating around in my head, but it’s a lot of work and the watery-soft versions become sloppy and meaningless in the process.
I hate it.