The week before this past one, Rebecca was our Guest Editor (a wonderful journal, the best writing in J-land) from In The Shadow of the Iris and she was mentioning how long she had been journaling and how things had changed from the beginning. She cited some differences between now and then. Several days later, my mind was a blank and thoughts drifting in and out like clouds across the blue summer sky, squeezing the remote areas of my brain for some small inspiration for a journal entry when I remembered that in the beginning we were limited to only 2500 words.
2500 small, measly, meager words. This entire entry thus far is close to half of that allotment. What fancy editing was demanded. A word here, an adjective there. Still, too long. Wipe out that entire sentence! Finally, it fits. But, it makes no sense!
How many of us are still left that survived those days and did not just throw up our hands and say, "Heck, this is crazy!" and move on to Blogger, or Moveable Type etc. etc. etc.
Anyway, I just think its funny.
Reading Rebecca's latest entry made me think realize that I am not alone. I could never ever so eloquently express the reasons why the entries are becoming harder and longer spaced. It is easy to write about interesting stuff. Each of us has a large bag full of inspiring and funny stories, histories that are pleasant in sharing. After spending years pounding them out, they begin to run thin. So thin that suddenly I feel the real person, the honest to goodness ME is beginning to appear on the pages. Not the person I want you all to see, but the real one. She manages to slip out and make her presence known.
And that scares me. I'm not sure why that is. After all these years there has never been a knock on the door and I am served with a "Cease and Desist" order. Or someone knocks and I open the door and they are waving a gun at me. I have not had a knock on the door and opened it and been embarrassed by the steady stare of someone I have written about on these pages. I try to keep most people shielded. Or I did in the beginning when it seemed so important. No one from my family knows, and if they do, they don't let me know they know. Several times a year I receive an e-mail from someone (someone I always know) asking "Who are you?" after reading my "web site" (that's what the latest called it.)
But I have fallen on hard times when it comes to writing material. I am stripped as thin as I have ever been and down to bare bone. My father has died, my Aunt has died, my husband hated his job that brought us close to family and subsequently took a job that takes him 400 miles away from me. This is not good. I feel I am in a life and death struggle with my daughter. I have gained weight and feel like I can not go out and find a job because I look so fat and middle aged. Invisible.
So, even though I have a rich, uncultivated steady stream of remarkable writing material, I can not bring myself to do it!
Yet, I just did.
And thank God I am not limited to 2500 words or this never would have been written.