thanks for the candid votes. it's nice to know what i am writing and/or not writing about that you like/dislike. i must admit, i love feedback, therefore feel free to spill whatever you wish. i will be hoping to add more personal tidbits and crafty endeavors to appease you, my blogfriends.
though sometimes i wonder how much we bloggers should try to win over readers. is that really what it's about? should readers magically find us or should we be on a hunt to scout them out? i feel like this taboo subject is like walking/writing on a tightrope. my main blogging goal is to write it out, find my voice, being true to myself, to whatever is whirling in my mind and just write. yet, i also want to make you love me. you see, a big part of me loves comments and readers and emails and my silly sitemeter.
and the other big part of me wants to simply write without thought of an audience or readers or where in the world my words go. i like the mystery; as though i am just blowing sentences, like dandelion seeds into the universe. as if we could be like writers of old who never knew who was touched or what influence was made. did van gogh realize there would be volumes published of his letters to his brother, theo? and is this why we love him so? because these words were not for the masses, but custom-written for his audience of one? don't we love his words because of their intimate sibling truthfulness? i tend to think so. i tend to think the closer we are to letting our hearts out, the more truth lies in them; thus a more meaningful message on the page.
but then again, there is such joy (be it self satisfying affirmations) in knowing there is some one out there reading these words. i have received lovely emails telling me that my words are somehow, once in awhile, inspiring and thought-provoking. which just keeps me smiling and so happy and thrilled inside, you have no idea. or maybe you do, because maybe that's why you blog too.
my mind wraps around this silly tangent like bacon around a water chestnut. i hope to keep this blog as real as possible. for my benefit and for yours. but is this tightrope of genuinity possible? are we kidding ourselves? can we think about our audience and still be true to ourselves simultaneously? or if we are aware of an audience have we already sold ourselves out? if you are a blogger are you also a writer? can a writer be a blogger? can these two worlds collide/mesh/hold hands even? can we truly have our blogworld cupcakes and eat them too? can we attain van gogh's unaffected truthfulness within a blog post broadcasted online? are attempts to connect even valid if the words are not scripted onto a tear-stained, folded up piece of stationery, stamped and mailed or better yet, rolled up into a scroll of love, tucked into a glass bottle and passionately tossed into the wild waves of the sea?
my attempt will be to be thinking of you and you and you and you, yet also try not to think of you, in hopes to be as genuine of a writer as possible. is that possible?
all i know is, it's seriously time for reinventing. if you're still reading, i am thick in the middle of designing a big project that has me oh so excited and up late at nights. and i really can't wait for the unveil.
(enough deep thoughts for one night.)
I must continue to follow the path I take now. If I do nothing, if I study nothing, if I cease searching, then, woe is me, I am lost. That is how I look at it — keep going, keep going come what may. But what is your final goal, you may ask. That goal will become clearer, will emerge slowly but surely, much as the rough draught turns into a sketch, and the sketch into a painting through the serious work done on it, through the elaboration of the original vague idea and through the consolidation of the first fleeting and passing thought. What has changed is that my life then was less difficult and my future seemingly less gloomy, but as far as my inner self, my way of looking at things and of thinking is concerned, that has not changed. But if there has indeed been a change, then it is that I think, believe and love more seriously now what I thought, believed and loved even then.
- vincent van gogh writes to his brother theo, july 1880