*note: if you read this over the weekend, i've changed this a bit, waffled and caved a bit, as i'm prone to do, this fluctuation constant fluctuation you could say is a TRAGIC FLAW. i am such a blogger agoniste.
Well I suppose this has been coming for a few months now. I've threatened, in fits and starts.
I moved to Akron, Ohio more than a year ago with my partner, John, from Chicago. New Year's Eve the day after my birthday I was overstimulated from keeping conversations with books and yet so bored...so terribly bored...living the life of a modern-day Bovary. So I opened up this box, and started this blog, to shout out into the darkness. And you answered! How you answered! And I think even though I had taught "creative nonfiction" and had written the personal essay before I discovered myself as an essayist, as a critic, thought, yes, this comes so easy, and at times burns so brilliantly, and I felt it, viscerally this experience.
And I essayed and essayed and vomited and vomited all of this stuff out, all the research for all the books I had written, that I wanted to write. I had no idea what the fuck I was doing. Is this a similar chorus in this new technology? This new way of burning in the night?
And I met you, and I think became a part of a community, or perhaps I can even say that some sort of writer/reader community formed here, and there, and elsewhere, those who wanted to write and read passionately, all passionately. I had never been part of a writing community before. Never. And I hope, I hope I still will know you, that we will still know each other, and talk about books, and eagerly exchange literature like it should be in a naughty blue book, under the table...Those who commented frequently, those who read and linked elsewhere, those who just read, who just read...thank you.
But then I was offered yes a great gift, a book of essays, and to be honest most of my attention in terms of criticism and essaying left this blog. And this blog became something else, became far more meta I think, about writing, as opposed to about books, about the self, painfully about the self, maybe too exquisitively sensitively about the self...And to write about the self in such a public public forum is to feel a bit flayed alive at times. It was an experiment, I guess, a glorious experiment for me. Personally it was a huge turning point. There has been some growth and stagnation and always too much reflection.
But I've learned that I need to really bury myself under, and commit to researching and revising and rewriting the book, and turning the book away from the blog, and so to do this I need to temporarily suspend the blog. I will keep it around as an archive, and then in six months or maybe a few months start it up again. It is always there, in my orbit, a pressure, pushing down on me, which is the opposite from when I started in, that feeling, of great great fluidity and freedom. I don't feel it anymore. And there are others who do this sort of blogging...better...or have more energy I suppose. I guess I just don't have the energy anymore to blog at the level I was before. I hope to keep these relationships, everyone I've ever corresponded with, it has been so generative for me...
I will most likely when the book comes out and perhaps there will be two books, that was what I alluded to earlier, perhaps the other novel and then the book of essays, we'll see about the first, it's not cemented, but perhaps when they come out I will begin this blog again. Or perhaps I will earlier. I don't know. I am itching to begin again, but know I need to take a long break. But it will not be Frances Farmer is My Sister in how it was in those first few months, for that will now, hopefully, if I can rally myself, the next six months, become a book, to come out in Spring 2012. And since all my messy energies went into the book, that felt final for me, that felt almost like the experiment in its current incarnation was over, is over. What will the next reincarnation look like? It's still uncertain.Will it be a communal blog? Will I go back to the constant notebooking? More discrete essays? I do not know.
My email is at the sidebar. Please email me and keep in touch during this dry period. Also, I'm on Goodreads where I'll be listing my author readings and Facebook. I also might get around to doing an old-fashioned author website one of these days.
There are my archives to look through. 9 months, give or take a few days. 221 posts. I like the early ones myself - the first few months. They had the most energy I think. Also, I would look to my blogroll for links to this amazing new criticism that's happening on the internet. Roz Ito's Supernumerary, Radish King, Angela Simione, Bhanu Kapil, Kate Durbin, Repat Blues, Ariana Reines, Jackie Wang, Bett Williams, The Rainbow Notebook, Montevidayo, lots of what's going on on HTML Giant...I might be adding events as I see fit and any BIG news if there's anything to announce. Like a promotional tool. All prostitution. But no more daily blogging, diarying, journaling, notebooking...no more no more. At least for six months. Let's call this an experimental break. Maybe once in a while a post. But this constant posting as before - I can't keep up with it anymore.
It's a weird thing. Books are done. When they're done. Blogs are never done, unless you murder them. And then they can be made into books. But that's never an easy process either. It's all starting over again, with each project, yet each project bleeding into each other, like love affairs.
I will miss you, my dear sisters. But we will meet again soon! May you remain kicking and screaming.