"Do you ever think - I can't blog that?"
I'm having a meeting with a lovely theatry-type who wants to start a blog and is thus mining me for advice. Needless to say - a free coffee and a chance to wax lyrical about blogging, not a bad way to spend an hour or so.
But this question - I would be lying if I said anything but -
And the thing is it's not so much the stuff which I long ago deemed to be off-limits on here but the stuff that has been the fodder of many blog entries which has proven to be difficult in the last 6 weeks or so.
For this year, though my blogging here has been ridiculously light through large chunks, DA has done a couple of things in my life that it never has before. On the positive front it's led to me getting work (more of which in a few weeks I hope). On a not exactly negative but certainly different front my prediliction for writing people collided with someone else's prediliction for being written. And not just the stuff that I wrote on here but the blogs I wrote and then couldn't publish because they crossed a line - but which instead I (for the first time ever) attached to emails and sent to the person they were about.
Which was all fine - for if I will write and if I will write about my life then these are the results I must expect some of the time - until I realised that I wanted to write on here - as I have in the past - of things which I didn't know if it would be fair to blog. As odd as it sounds - writing about what has happened between you and someone who doesn't know you write about them and putting that out on the internet - fine in my brain. Writing about what has happened with you and someone who not only knows you write about them but actually reads what you write - not so fine. Even though that is probably totally the wrong way round. And even though I only ever write what is in my domain (I cannot - for all that it would have saved me feeling quietly blue through most of September - second guess the story from the other side).
And maybe, just maybe, I didn't want the person to know what I had written. That, for my own sanity (and dignity), I needed the chance to lie to them. For them not to know the full extent of what was going on inside my head by reading it here. Sending words of honesty out to a faceless internet - easy. To the one person who should read them - very, very hard indeed.
I didn't want to write a 'I'm back blogging' post at the start of this month because I honestly didn't know how it would go. Getting fiction tangled with real-life makes you think hard about blogging. It is, I guess, another way that you can get burnt.
Not that I would do anything differently. Because I wouldn't exchange a single second, sentence or decision.
And because it is now the Final Act of October and no longer the early days of September I'm ready to put the final links in the story.