It has been a long time since I had a blog of my own. I used to keep a blog, back when I had nothing to do. Or rather, back when I had plenty to do but too much agoraphobia to do it. Looking back at the old posts, still garish in their monochromatic green, I wonder at how easy it seemed then. To write a blog entry and press enter, with no consideration other than spelling. With blog titles like “Emotional Stuff,” “RIBBIT,” “Broth for Dinner,” or the psychologically deep, “Have I Become a Teenie Bopper?” (Hey, now! You’re only allowed to laugh if you comment with your own old titles.)
My old blog was tied, as blogs usually were in the nineties, to a pseudonym and persona rather than a real presence–and this was for the best, as I acquired several angry stalkers from my work as a game GM. Those experiences really diminished the fun of blogging. Eventually I abandoned my old Livejournal, showing up on Blogger in joint blogs with friends, another series of pseudonyms protecting my identity. Like those annoying group projects in college, someone did all the work. It wasn’t me. Is there a name for that? Blog-coasting? Bumblogging? Navel-staring? That’s what I did.
My last partner of this sort abandoned me months ago, and it was then I found myself staring at a mushroom ring. I had a Facebook account and a few tweets, a collection of photographs and a professional page–the usual things which formed a circle of links grown up around my Internet presence. But there was no longer a center. The gauntlet fell: how could I call myself a wordsmith without a blog?
Time to step into the ring.