Apollo Gee
Sorry.
Again.
It just seems to be working for me. I would expect the number of readers to dwindle the more graphic I get, but human nature ain't like that. You'll be intrigued, horrified, empathetic, drawn back for more. But you won't be enjoying it.
Not that I'm trying to entertain you. It's just that...
Oh God, even though I've always had that drive to fit in, to act how I'm supposed to, to not make a fuss, to not upset anyone... there's also this other me, frustrated by the British lack of honesty. And I know that keeping things private isn't the same as lying, but come on. It causes damage.
It hurts people when teenagers know fuck all about reproduction or love or tenderness or understanding, when they launch themselves at each other without the faintest clue about half of human life because nobody's ever bothered to tell them.
When pain and anger are either buried and glossed over or exaggerated and scandalised, and there's something vulgar about presenting in detail your bodily habits, your innermost feelings, your sexual desires or the ways that you hurt, it's just wrong.
I've never been any good at covering things up. I'm always blurting things out, saying things I shouldn't, sharing things you wouldn't, and getting myself into trouble.
And I'm a novelist. We look for the drama in things. We want to write everything down. We want to observe, make notes, save up our experiences to use them a later date. We want to move people; make them cry.
Clearly I've been told off for this behaviour enough times that I'm reticent, hesitant; my honesty is accompanied by self doubt.
But that's rubbish. And you never know, this might not just be therapy, or ego food, or Tourette's. Maybe it'll actually be useful.
Maybe it won't.
But maybe it will.
___
Again.
It just seems to be working for me. I would expect the number of readers to dwindle the more graphic I get, but human nature ain't like that. You'll be intrigued, horrified, empathetic, drawn back for more. But you won't be enjoying it.
Not that I'm trying to entertain you. It's just that...
Oh God, even though I've always had that drive to fit in, to act how I'm supposed to, to not make a fuss, to not upset anyone... there's also this other me, frustrated by the British lack of honesty. And I know that keeping things private isn't the same as lying, but come on. It causes damage.
It hurts people when teenagers know fuck all about reproduction or love or tenderness or understanding, when they launch themselves at each other without the faintest clue about half of human life because nobody's ever bothered to tell them.
When pain and anger are either buried and glossed over or exaggerated and scandalised, and there's something vulgar about presenting in detail your bodily habits, your innermost feelings, your sexual desires or the ways that you hurt, it's just wrong.
I've never been any good at covering things up. I'm always blurting things out, saying things I shouldn't, sharing things you wouldn't, and getting myself into trouble.
And I'm a novelist. We look for the drama in things. We want to write everything down. We want to observe, make notes, save up our experiences to use them a later date. We want to move people; make them cry.
Clearly I've been told off for this behaviour enough times that I'm reticent, hesitant; my honesty is accompanied by self doubt.
But that's rubbish. And you never know, this might not just be therapy, or ego food, or Tourette's. Maybe it'll actually be useful.
Maybe it won't.
But maybe it will.
___
Labels: Babies, Blogging About Blogging, Miscarriage, Philosophisering
3 Comments:
As difficult as this has been for you, and as difficult as it is to read it, I'd like to thank you for sharing this with us.
*hugs*
I'm running out of ways to say thank you, so I'll just say it. Thank you.
Hi Clare,
I want to reiterate Clair's words too.
I've known you a fair while now but in person, or over the phone or even in an email I would not have felt comfortable asking you the questions which your blog entries are answering. Maybe it's a social behavioural thing... maybe it's just me avoiding painful subjects. I've never been through these things before and, once over the initial shock of hearing your news, the questions pop into my head.
I think on this subject you just keep on writing whatever you feel like writing. I know you might be hesitant at upsetting people but you needn't be... everyone else is worried about upsetting you!
I just want you to know that I am thinking of you. And there are lots of virtual hugs here from me.
Andy
Post a Comment
<< Home