I Wanna Talk about Me

If you remember from my first post, I talked about my reticence to write—the reluctantly begun memoir, the diaries and journals abandoned out of fear someone would find them and have a window into me. I didn’t mention this, but another reason I’ve been a failure at producing diaries or journals is that I thought I had absolutely nothing to write about. I’ve always admired columnists who, day after day, seem to have no trouble making intelligent and interesting observations about themselves and the world at large, but the thought of doing it myself seemed impossible. What would I have to say? Great writers and writing teachers always suggest keeping a notebook with you at all times to record thoughts, observations, things overheard, epiphanies. A couple of times, I’ve tried keeping a writer’s notebook, but after a day or two of mostly strained and self-conscious scribbling, the notebook became just something else to find room for in my not-big-enough purse.

Guess what? Four days into blogging I’ve discovered something really amazing. I can’t wait to write. I carry my notebook everywhere, and it is filling up so fast that I’m afraid there may not be time enough for me to post everything I want to say. Who could have known that an audience (consisting of, as far as I know, only my Mom and a few close friends) could have provided such motivation! In light of this phenomenon, I’ve made two observations:

1. When I get back to classroom teaching, I’d like to find a way for students to feel that their writing has a larger audience than just me, a teacher marking errors, making suggestions, and putting a grade in the gradebook. Perhaps it might help them get over the reluctance factor and provide motivation, at least for some. And,

2. Maybe I’m a secret exhibitionist at heart.