"Posting About Posting" is another accidental series I started about social media stuff; I wish I could tell you why, but I do know it gives us a break from my usual talking about shoes. You can read more here and here, though I'm not sure why you would.
"I feel like a voyeur when I read your blog," a playgroup friend and reader (hi, friend!) mentioned to me today.
"Yep," I nodded. "Pretty soon you'll be mentioning things in conversation we never discussed, and I'll think 'What the Hell - how did she know . . .' only to remember that you read my nonsense."
It's a funny thing for those of us "out of the closet" to real-life friends about this blogging thing, the way it changes our interaction with them. Something about a friend seeing the written side of you can steal that chatty interaction you once had with one another, the back and forth of "How are you doing?" - tough to ask that conversation kick-starter when we bloggers do little but go on and on (and ON) about exactly how we're doing.
I also can't get the phrase "my blog" out in conversation without blushing furiously and worrying that my non-social media peeps perceive this as a hobby on par coolness-wise with the "Dungeons & Dragons" crowd (is there still one of those?) or, worse, people who still use the term "peeps".
On the other, manicured hand, I've found it's mostly been a good thing letting people in on this little invisible world of ours. It has sparked discussions with friends I don't think we would have had otherwise. It also helps that they know why I may be obsessively taking photos of my shoes or panicked about finding a cell signal or something similarly (ab)normal at any given moment.
As I tell more people about this silly online diary of mine, I struggle sometimes to write like nobody's reading, if you'll forgive me borrowing a completely trite phrase - that is, to pen what I hope is passably decent without worry whether anyone likes my drivel. To resist writing what I suspect might merely be popular and stick to what is true to . . . uh, whatever the heck it is I'm doing here.
Which in part is a big, fat lie, of course, since we bloggers secretly want everyone, real life friend or otherwise, to love us so that we can be discovered and have great big giant book deals magically fall in our laps and be besties with Gwyneth, all while maintaining our indie blogger cred and not selling out with increasingly generic, dull posts.
Or, um, something like that. Know what I mean? Are you "out" yet?