Because of my consulting gig, I travel back and forth from Charleston to Columbia for meetings, which means that I have a lot of time in the car. Alone.
This is fine. I listen to the TJMS if it’s morning, or my iPod.
Sometimes, I just drive in silence and think. Yes, I still actually have the ability to do that.
And writing is ALWAYS on my mind.
The theme for this week is censorship. And I’ve been mentally checking myself and my writing for ways that I censor.
Here is my list:
- I only hit the highlights about my relationship because The Man reads my blog.
- I only hit the highlights about parenting because The Girl occasionally reads my blog.
- I mostly highlight the positive with my friendships because SOME of my friends read my blog.
- I never talk about my spiritual beliefs. Or how I am so not religious because some of my family members read my blog.
- I don’t curse as much as I like to because the general public reads my blog.
Notice any recurring themes here?
If I’m gonna write stuff I don’t want anyone else to read, then my journals will suffice.
My goal as a writer is to tell MY stories. MY tales. Share MY images. Unleash MY angels or demons.
The key word here is: MY. In case you missed it.
Yes, I know that I do not live on this planet alone. That there are three sides to every story. Blah, blah, blah. I love a good story, whether it’s embellished or the flat out truth.
I date a 6’5″ white male who is originally from Wisconsin. A slim rocker dude with lots of tats. (He hates when I call him “dude”.) That alone is a couple of years’ worth of blog posts.
My daughter is a teenage drama queen that I love beyond words, but she makes the veins in my head pop on a regular basis. It gives me great pleasure to torture her with conversations about sex,dating, STIs, and teen pregnancy. I also say “penis” every chance I get just to see her cringe. Payback for all those tantrums, having to fuss to get her to do chores, failing six grade math by not turning in her work because she wanted to show her teacher who was boss (yeah- she really did that), losing library books, glasses, and much more, thus costing me a ton of money, not wearing her retainer at night, and for the day she mumbled “I hate that woman” when she thought I couldn’t hear her. I have mommy issues.
I love my friends, and yet often wonder how in the hell we manage to stay friends with all the drama that ensues. Yet let someone outside of our group fuck with one of them, and it’s on and popping.
Yes, I said fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. No. I’m not twelve.
I distrust organized religion. Have since I was old enough to question what I was hearing, but was too scared to trust my instincts because of the vengeful God that I was so fearful of. I very much believe in God. Just not the one that I was introduced to at such a tender age. And that’s that. It’s not up for discussion or debate.
From this day forward, if I find myself censoring my writing, I simply won’t write it, be it fiction or blog post.
Let the chips fall where they may.