Hi James

I haven't posted in a while. First it was because I wasn't writing much, and then it was because I wasn't writing anything I'd share here. The funny thing is that I'd share that other stuff with strangers in a heartbeat, and it's actually sort of part of my plan that if I ever write a book all that stuff will be in it. But I think things over extensively before I post them here. Obviously part of the whole “publishing” thing is that people will, you hope, read what you write. But somehow it's different when it's people you know.

I have a very small audience, made up exclusively of family and Facebook friends, and I’ve been able to come to terms with the idea that every single one of those people might possibly read something I’ve posted here. It was a struggle but I got over myself and my shyness for the most part. Now I’m almost totally okay with those potential readers, and I take all of them into account when I decide whether or not to post something. (This is not to say that I think all or any of them will find what I’ve posted particularly interesting, just that I’m not embarrassed by the idea of any of them reading it. Not terribly embarrassed anyway.) And honestly if someone I don’t know were to stumble across this blog in some random web search and read a few paragraphs, that really wouldn’t bother me. I do want to be a writer, after all, a published author, and clearly part of the goal as well as the measure of success is having your work widely read. Strangers don’t bother me one bit, and yet for some reason the thought of certain people I know reading things that I wrote, things that I did not explicitly invite them to read, just makes me cringe. And one such person (you know who you are, JAMES, and I know you're reading this) has recently decided to track down my blog, make a point of reading the entire thing, and generally be a butthead about it. Of course just the act of finding and reading the blog is not particularly buttheaded, though that is what he's going for; it’s compounded by his insistence on quoting my words back at me in his best hoity-toity lady voice. But still, any teasing notwithstanding, I can’t see why it should bother me so much, and this does bother me. It's like hearing your own voice on your answering machine, or watching someone read a card you wrote for them. What is so bad about that? There’s no maliciousness here, it’s only friendly nudginess, not at all unlike my frequent reminders that he’s old, nerdy, and from Connecticut (unforgivable). In fact I should probably appreciate the attention and the effort he's making to pay it. And anyway he’s not passing any judgment on my writing skills, only quoting the exact words I wrote. I wrote them! So what’s the problem?

The whole problem is me. If this didn't bother me, there would be no teasing to be done. I could take away all the ammunition by simply not caring--but I do care. And I would really like to know why. The obvious answer is that I need to acquire some thicker skin, especially if I'm going to cling to that goal of becoming a published author. But I'm pretty sure criticism wouldn’t faze me in the same way this does. It might hurt my feelings or make me angry, but I don’t think it would make me so embarrassed. I know I’m too easily embarrassed, anyway, but I don’t know why this of all things should embarrass me. Why should I care what stupid Butthead will think when this pops up on his stupid (and nerdy) RSS feed?