Worry a Day: a word of explanation June 22, 2009Posted by lizrosenberg in Uncategorized.
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I worry enough to keep this going every day, but I probably won’t. Maybe once a week.
I don’t worry so much that I’ll run out of worries as I worry that I will bore myself and everyone else. When I was a kid, I kept a diary. It was dull. I mean, it bores even me to re-read it. Blogs strike me as being a little like hundreds of thousands of diaries being published all over the world.
Who reads these things?
Also, there’s something called a “house style” in magazine writing. Similarly, there is a certain style of gushing that passes for writing in a lot of blogs. (Not all. Some are beautifully written.) But I’m afraid I might fall into the gushing style, and get stuck there – the way grownups used to tell you if you crossed your eyes they would get stick that way. For awhile I wrote a column for a famous parenting magazine once and after about a year I could barely hear myself anymore for all the House Style.
I’m also afraid I’ll use up my best lines and ideas here in the random virtual universe. So I’ll probably end up stealing from myself. This publishing network of the ozone reminds me of what William Blake wrote, about two hundred years ago. (Of course he was schizophrenic, but also visionary.) I’m paraphrasing here but basically what he said was,
when I write, my work is instantly published all over the universe and the angels read it.
Of course here on earth he was not having such an easy time of it.
Also this: The poet Heather McHugh once said, If I don’t sit quietly sometimes, I’m afraid the angel will not speak to me anymore.
And I’m afraid of wasting people’s time, which is why I have provided a link to people who are more interesting and smarter writers than I am. (see website, click on links. There they are!)
This is why I always wear interesting jewelry or a beautiful scarf when I give a reading. I figure, if I’m going to bore some people to tears here, at least let me give them something worth looking at.
In any event, there is plenty in this world to worry about far, far larger than my blog, my brain or my anything. So, that is what I will move onto next. But I thought I’d begin with a personal note of introduction.
I also worry that no one will ever read this. But that’s an old, old worry, common to most writers— but not, apparently, to William Blake.