Last week, while taking a break from work, I found myself reading through a friend’s personal blog. While everything was well written, and while the author herself did a careful job remaining anonymous to most of her readers, I couldn’t help but cringe at some of the stuff she was writing about. Personal stuff. Stuff that, once it’s out there, you just can’t take back.
Part of my cringing was due to the fact that about a year ago, I was right there with her. I’ve had a personal blog for years, and it used to be the one place where I could completely dump my emotions. A creative writer who has to work (on non-creative writing) quite a lot to pay the bills, I don’t always get to spend the hours a day I’d like to on my own pieces — so whenever I was itching to say something, and didn’t seem to have the time or energy to dive into a script or short story, I would unload on my personal blog.
I was anonymous back then, and didn’t feel the need to censor anything I wrote. After all, wasn’t that what blogs were for? Verbally drop-kicking people who hurt me, divulging my uneasy secrets to get them off my chest, saying everything I could never say in real life? Wasn’t that what the Internet was for? Finally — a way to be noticed without being called out.
But slowly, my opinion changed.
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