January 12, 2009

I Reject Invisibility.

Posted in Uncategorized at 8:29 pm by the Green-Eyed Siren

When I told Mr. Unfocused that I had started my very own blog (because, I informed him, he did not say enough nice things about me in his), he was, it is fair to say, deliriously excited. I was still futzing with the settings and writing my first post when he told me he wanted to share the news with his readers. I asked him to please hold off until I was ready; he hovered and pestered. I pleaded, “But I need to get some more content up there!” He answered, “No one is going to punish you for not having enough content on your blog on your first day!

Soon the kids were occupied playing in the snow and we were both free to play dueling computers for a bit. I kept working on my debut while he typed away at his own post (Mrs. Unfocused Declares Independence). When he showed it to me I protested that I didn’t like it; he made changes until I was satisfied and begged to be allowed to post. My entry was basically done, so it should have been no problem to say yes. Instead, I discouraged him from posting at all. He, naturally, wondered what the hell was wrong with me.

That’s when I told him that I didn’t think he should alert the world to my presence because I didn’t want to make anyone feel obligated to read what I had to say. Blinking at me in puzzlement, he asked what I meant. I said, “Well, I don’t necessarily need people to read my blog. I just kinda wanted to have it out there, you know, but no one really has to read it. In fact, probably it would be better if they didn’t.” Or something to that effect.

Now, Mr. Unfocused is not one to hide behind a drink in a darkened corner of the party, as it were. He’s a cheerful guy, very friendly, and he’s quite happy to be onstage…I suspect that his (far-distant, of course) retirement will involve a lot of community theater. Unsurprisingly, he loves having readers checking in at the Unfocused Life; through it he is able to transform the very solitary act of writing into the shared experience he needs to give him energy. So my apparently insane stand on being a blogger was not exactly an idea that he could wrap his head around.

To me, however, it was entirely logical. Let me amend that: it was entirely logical within the complicated structure I had constructed in my own mind. Kinda like how Freud is entirely logical; if you accept only a few basic ideas, all of a sudden it makes sense that three-quarters of the female population are undiagnosed hysterics. (Since I first read him in college and decided he was full of horseshit, I’ve had a certain fondness for and sense of kinship with Freud, as I’m self-aware enough to recognize how frequently my perfectly constructed towers of logic are similarly built on horseshit. Not to mention that being an undiagnosed hysteric myself automatically increases my affection for him.)

At any rate, I was not entirely comfortable with the idea that anyone would really read what I was going to write. I had actually considered calling the blog “I Prefer Invisibility” at one point, but I wasn’t able to come up with a related handle that wouldn’t make me sound utterly pathetic. I wisely decided against the defeatist approach and chose instead to go the other route, summoning my courage and announcing myself to the world as the Green-Eyed Siren. However, despite the bravura implied in labeling myself as such, I expected that the only readers I would have would be related to me in some fashion. And I figured I could count on them to be mostly unenthusiastic.

But Mr. Unfocused had such an air of hang-dog disappointment about him that he carried the day. The World, or at least his readers, would know about my bold stand for feminism; “Mrs. Unfocused no more!” would spread as a battle cry across cyberspace. And in consequence I had some actual visitors to my blog, commenting kindly on my manifesto. Soon after that I experienced the power of Harriet, who instructed her followers to deliver me virtual bundt cakes. I’m a big fan of bundt cakes, so their offerings were most appreciated, as was Harriet’s very lovely welcome to the blogosphere.

I’m still feeling very shy and self-conscious about my presence here. I have yet to add most of the blogs I follow to my sidebar for fear that they will notice my link, check out this space, and decide I’m a dork. Or, worse, a dork wanna-be. But as Miss Austen wrote, “My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me,” and it is time to summon my inner Elizabeth Bennett. I will one day find the wherewithal to link to Poppy Buxom and Jennsylvania and the like. Just as soon as I get some more content up.

So all this is a roundabout way of saying a most heartfelt thank you to everyone who commented on my arrival. Nothing makes a person feel happier to be at a party than the enthusiastic welcome of brilliant and scintillating company.



  1. freshhell said,

    Welcome to wordpress! I promise not to point and laugh (out loud).

  2. harri3tspy said,

    I totally understand about the inner editor. And I was very self-concious when I started, even though I didn’t know anyone else who blogged and as far as I knew, no one was reading what I had to say. And then a week or two in, I made a friend (one I finally met in person a few weeks ago). And then there were more. And somewhere along the line, I stopped feeling so self conscious and just started writing. Now maybe you won’t get there the same way, but if I had to pick one thing I’ve gotten out of blogging (and there have been MANY), I’d have to say that I feel a lot more comfortable about what I have to say and how I say it. Because sitting down and making yourself write once a day is a really good thing to do. Damn, all my English teachers were right.

  3. Jeanne said,

    Also writing really does make things happen. And if you keep calling us brilliant and scintillating the whole interweb will be at your feet.

  4. the Green-Eyed Siren said,

    I know that flattery will get me everywhere.

  5. Mike said,

    First of all, welcome to the blogosphere. (I don’t really like that word, but what are you gonna do).

    I understand the apprehension. When I started mine last year I didn’t even want my friends to know about it. I felt a little self-conscious I guess. As it turned out, not many of them come to mine. Instead I have completely different people coming to mine that I never met. I find that interesting and strange. Overall, I enjoy spreading my weirdness out there. Have fun!

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