It's an interesting, two-sided exercise in which I find myself engaged these days -- writing in my journal, longhand, each morning for about an hour, and ending my day by blogging on my computer for at least that long. Sometimes the journal entry gets transcribed and revised as the blog, but not always.
It's a bit like standing with one foot in one century, the other in another. One medium -- the journal -- feels archaic, anachronistic, even. The other is "cutting edge," or so I'm led to believe (although there is some debate as to the future of "long-form" blogging).
Blogging is innately public; the writing has "followers," as well as people who happen upon it during Google searches. My journals end up on bookshelves, or in mildewing cardboard boxes in the basement of my sister's hundred year old brownstone in Brooklyn, New York.
My hope, ultimately, is that all this daily reflecting (navel-gazing, if you will) will eventually lead me to write that dazzling piece of long fiction that I know is in that navel somewhere. I've unleashed the demons before -- the proof is somewhere in the aforementioned damp basement. It's time to release the beast one more time.
No comments:
Post a Comment