In my first post, I spoke to the intent of this blog which is to give me an outlet to express without getting bogged down with quality or structure, in the hopes that sharing would help manage my anxiety. Granted, I’ve only given this blog a few weeks and I’ve produced more for this one in that span of time than I have for my others in months — this is progress, facilitated by virtual anonymity — but I’m anxious that I’ll hit a brick wall soon and be silent again.
A friend operates a blog (probably with similar intentions although he’s more trusting with sharing than I) who is working on chronicling his life using music for context. His point is (paraphrased), “If someone looked at my iPod and wanted to know why I have this great diversity of music there, what would I tell them? What explains why I like X but also Y as well as Z? Each one has a story.”
It’s a good schtick and it serves him well. He’s able to use his theme not only to tie together the threads of his life and memories but also speak to the timeless relevance of music — all this while making a couple well-placed digs at the commercial music establishment while he’s at it. That’s a lot of birds downed by a single stone. But I don’t recall having the same degree of attachment to music as my friend nor the under-current of righteous indignation at the increasing homogenization of music. For me, music is an interest, not a passion and I’m not trying to articulate a commitment to a way of life. Music is not the path that will help me understand me. But books might.
I’ve toyed with the idea of using books as a means of tying this blog together but have resisted for two reasons: (1) It felt derivative of my friend’s idea. (2) Not all my books are high-falutin’ works of lit. In my sordid past, there are volumes of pre-teen serials, a brief dabbling in Westerns, a few zombie and vampire stories, and more than a smattering of smut. These are books that are not part of my permanent library, to be sure. They’re the written equivalent of Ke$ha. Whatever would you think of me if you knew?
But as I feel myself come closer to the brick wall, I remember that this blog is an exercise to help me come to terms with me, not for my anonymous readers (few, if any, though they are). I think that allows me a few concessions.
So books it is and we’ll go with that plan until it’s no longer the plan.