Triumphant return

Although I perpetually critique it, I can't imagine life without social media. Every time I log into Facebook, my email, or this recently neglected blog, it's like one giant round of applause, where everyone is screaming my name and begging for an encore. As of lately, however, the internet has for many reasons become a device of torture, and I have avoided everthing in hopes to protect the little dignity and privacy that I have left. It wasn't until yesterday, that I realized that it is 2012, not 1912, and it's a waste of energy to avoid something that is supportive 98% of the time and only 2% damaging.

Needless to say, December was not what I anticipated. For reasons I am not comfortable disclosing, the month chewed me up and spit me out, in a physical and in an emotional sense. Weeks later, I am finally gathering my strength (well I'm sitting in bed, but 90 degrees is better than 180) and writing a little.
One thing I promised myself when I began this blog was that I would write even if what I was writing was stupid. Even if it felt irrelevant or it lacked structure. So I'm doing just that.

Last week I discussed New Year's resolutions with my students, and many held the opinion that it is a terrible tradition that sets people up for failure and inhibits us from being content with who we are. I thought this was a little heavy for a fifteen year old, but there just might be something to it. I have so much to accomplish and look forward to this year, but between the waves of emotional drama and being sick for going on four weeks now, I just want to rest and feel like myself again. But part of myself is writing, so here is my first attempt to get back in the habit.

Shock value

Every day I sit at my desk, across from my German roommate and write. Well, I try to write. Often, I just maintain an espresso-induced caffeine buzz and bounce back and forth between my blog (audience: the world), my personal journal (audience: myself), and my novel (audience: to be determined). One of my goals for my time abroad was to write something...anything...at least three times each week. Even if it's bad, I believe that the act of writing encourages more writing, and eventually something profound..or can I say brilliant, will emerge.

But lately I feel like there is a ticking clock in the back of my head, as if all the other writers are stealing all of the good ideas. The bank is running out, and I'm getting nervous. More and more I see people writing solely for shock value. Excessive cursing, blatant racism/sexism, exaggerated arrogance...anything that will bring in the most traffic is fair game. And I completely understand it. While I am honored that my friends and family read my blog with some regularity, I would love it if I could expand my readership, and attract the attention of random readers. This is ultimately the desire of the writer, not to write, but to be read. So perhaps I am trying to defy something that is undefiable; writers are arrogant, attention-seeking exhibitionists.

That being said, it is exhausting to be an arrogant, attention-seeking exhibitionist. And sometimes, we give up, lose our voice, and forget why we are writing in the first place. There are many different views on what to do to cure writer's block, but I find three to be particularly helpful:

1. Pick someone to write to
You don't have to literally write "Dear Dad" at the top of the paper, but this will direct your tone, message, and instantly give your writing a message. Imagine you are telling a story to someone you know, and then let the writing go from there.

2. Don't be afraid if it's bad
When I have writer's block I type a word, delete. Type three more, delete, delete, delete. Never edit and write simultaneously, I think this inhibits creativity. Express first, edit later.

3. Find a writing place
For weeks I felt like I had nothing to say. This was probably because I was sleeping til noon and sitting across from a pile of dirty laundry every day. Switch up your location, excite your senses and see what can happen.

The things you'd never do

As a five-year addict to Facebook, it may seem perfectly hypocrital for me to stand up on my soapbox and criticize it, but that's exactly what I'm going to do. Not because I'm above it, but because I am powerless without it, and the best defense twenty-something wanna-be-writers have these days is the blogosphere. So here it goes.

Everything everyone does appears online. What you ate for breakfast. Where you bought that dress. How long you've been dating your boyfriend. What you did last night. Who you did last night. And all this is fine and good, because it gives people a sense of celebrity, it somehow validates their existence...but somewhere along the line it began to feel like an event didn't actually occur unless there was record of it on Facebook. And this notion continued to evolve to the point until my greatest fear has been realized: people are doing things JUST so they can record it on Facebook.

I want to gather all my Facebook 'friends' in a room and shout at the top of my lungs, "Would you really have traveled to South Africa if you couldn't post the pictures?" "Are you sure you want to marry him?" "Are those kids just for show?"

"Facebook stunts" as I like to call them, are the manipulation and editing of one's life to make it appear more glamourous, more exciting. You know, kind of like how you post the pictures of yourself with freshly applied makeup, posing like a movie star, at the beginning of a night out, and purposefully leave out the other pictures where you're devouring a large pizza late-night. Engagements, smiling kids, family vacations. I'm getting to the point where when I look through someone's album and it seems just so perfectly put together, I think, what happened next? What's the rest of the story?

Insanity aside, a cultural phenomenon is undoubtedly occuring here. People are subconciously making decisions and doing things because they are motivated by the fact that record of it will be posted online, making them appear cooler, more exciting, thinner, happier. Is this necessarily bad? Maybe not. But weird? Without a doubt. Because what happens when it crashes? Or when we -gasp- have to start paying to use Facebook? Who will validate our existence then? Facebook has evolved beyond a device to facilitate communcation; it has become a way to reinvent ourselves.

Here Goes Nothing...

My sister made me do this. No, maybe it was the mother of the little girl that I nanny for. Or perhaps it was me all along. Well, whatever birthed my interest in blogging has brought me here, to this moment, rambling at my laptop. Not that I don't believe in the power of blogging and social media. I do- but mostly I believe in writing as a path towards self-discovery, and blogging as a means of motivation to write routinely.

That being said, I have been so hesitant to start a blog for two main reasons--first and foremost, I did not want to be grouped into the category of women who blog because they (honestly) believe that they will one day become famous like Amy Adams did in Julie & Julia. I mean cute movie, but who are we kidding? Secondly, I am a verocious type-A perfectionist who is in the worst writing rut of her life. I used to enjoy writing and be extremely proud of my work, and somewhere in between graduating from college and job application numero 4,000, I lost my confidence. My voice. My drive.

Several times over the past few months I have set up blogs, stared at the screen and quickly deleted my account. I have written an entry, only to backspace every word, disgusted at how contrived it sounded. I've even brainstormed about blog names, thinking that if I have the perfect most original name, then the writing will come. But the truth is, as pointed out by the oh-so-clever Penelope Trunk, no one is reading this. At least not yet. And that isn't my priority.

I have no idea where this is headed but I do have a lot of life-figuring-out ahead of me--including a move to France, careers, relationships, finding a place to call home, and everything in between. So here's to not being perfect. Or Amy Adams.