Private and public self…this was the original theme of this post as sat trying to be more prepared in posting “What I Learned Sundays” this week. Lately, I seem to have many thoughts and experiences big and small that I want to constrain to this small post summing up my learning process of the previous week.
“What are you always doing on that thing? Playing games,” she asked.
“No, I’m writing,” I turned the iPad around to show her the book cover.
“Wow, you write,” she asked this evening, her mind still clearing out from the previous night.
“Yes, I wrote a manuscript, and I have a blog, I’ve actually written a lot in the last few weeks and months.”
“My friend published a book of poetry,” somewhat intrigued, simply because with my current works, and to piece published in compilations, that may be my foot in the door with Blue Lines.
“I would have never thought you write. You just sit there (pointing toward the table), and seem very quiet…reserved.”
I smiled realizing that though you allow parts of you to be public, you can also hide behind that public persona. I’ve done that a lot lately, where depending on the level (knowledge, time, quality, proximity, familiarity, context, touch) my message, or distributed message has been different. But then you (well) I realize, there are some people that blur the lines of these relationships, because you arrive at that place where if I say this, in this way, now the person that it directly impacts has just as much, or more access to it, and a different investment in that forum.
“Who is that a picture of? Do you just write, or do you write about someone?” Therein my internal brake and filter come into play. I’ve told my story different ways many times, but this was a moment that I had to respectfully censor myself publically.
The first question I let die, the second is a plain “yes.” There was not really anymore to say regarding that.
“Read this,” she offered passing her phone, “my friend (the aforementioned author) wrote this.”
I read and found the piece thoroughly well done, not that I can judge, but if your piece is broken between 10 different text messages, and I’m patient enough to read it, my interest is captured. I’m not going to use the word “amazing,” because I have too much lately.
“Well read this,” I pull out my writing card, “I wrote this tonight while I was sitting here.” Not that I was very happy about the piece, I rewrote it totally. Continue reading