You think that the stream will satisfy you, that the browser will enlighten you, that this app will complete you, that those likes will fill you.
I deactivated Facebook.
I haven’t posted a tweet in ten days.
I wonder how that specific writing experience would be different. Because of the public spaces that are always open. The readers that are just a Publish button away. And the endless opportunities for release. All of this at a memoirist’s fingertips, even if she is not ready. Even if she wants to be alone.
I’ve paralyzed myself as a result, and created a visual space that accommodates just one mode — a single version of me. I’ve left little room for experimentation; I’ve promised a certain experience for my readers. Or maybe this is all in my head, and I overthink things.
Maybe I just need to shut up and write.
You can create your own profile on Medium and Hi and Exposure. But there’s an element of renting out space on these platforms, and I’m reminded of the loft my husband and I just moved out of — one unit within a huge, impersonal condo complex — and our quest to create the exact home we want.
I’ve been wondering what to do with this blog, and I’m leaning toward creating a static front page, pointing to category collections and posts I’m proud of — and moving away from the blog format completely. Preserving the best moments of me, with my posts acting like exhibits in a museum.