Sucked In

There’s been a subliminal sucking sound. I’ve heard it and been drawn to it: call it fame, notoriety, attention, recognition, or maybe distraction.

I started to blog nearly seven months ago, and at first it was simply a wonderful creative outlet. Stuff poured from my brain through my keyboard and then materialized on my computer screen. I figured I would write a memoir of sorts, something that would speak to who I am (or was), something my children - and perhaps their children - might someday read. I felt I have experienced a few things worth sharing, and developed a wizard’s eye view along the way.

Soon I strolled around in Bloggerville, curious to see who else was in the neighborhood. I clicked on the “Next Blog” tab, landing randomly in blogs that usually were of no interest to me, although occasionally I’d find one worth bookmarking for some future exploration (so far I haven’t bothered revisiting any of them). I blogged on, "doing my thing” with photos and the occasional rhyme, creating an olio of humor and serious thoughts, mixing stories, memories and commentary; playing with words, images and ideas.

But several weeks ago, things changed. Where there had been 0 comments the day before, now there was 1. "Dirk Star" said he wouldn’t be dropping by for the drink of water I was offering... Who was Dirk Star?? Intrigued by this visitor, I went to his site, and I wasn’t disappointed. Other people were leaving him comments, so I went to their sites and found some people whose blogs are worth reading. Not all of them, but there are the funny ones, the ones with heart and humor; the amazingly talented ones; the ones who make you think or question or feel awed by their accomplishments. A sucking sound became faintly audible.

I began to leave comments on the blogs that seemed interesting, and I checked my site more and more often to see if anyone was returning that contact. I liked my new friends, and I made it my business to check their blogs frequently and leave messages for them. The more comments I left on blogs, the more bloggers came to leave comments on my blog. It was exciting! Strangers were reading my pieces: I had an audience! The sucking sound grew louder.

As this notoriety increased, I assumed the persona of a more common (and less wizened) wizard. I posted a picture of a steaming manure pile, and rather than write about the glories of compost, I challenged people to make metaphors. A gnome became my sidekick, and suddenly I wasn’t sure whose voice I was using to speak. (Sssssuuuuuccccccckkkkkkkkkk.......)

Trying to regain my balance, I turned off my computer. Hours later, when I returned to the streets of Bloggerville, the good guys were still there: Whim, Meander, Dirk, City Mouse, Craig D. and a few others. But as I had found back in the beginning, Bloggerville is rife with the immature and shallow, the bored folks, and the boring (juvenile, profane, inane, lacking in originality or substance) blogs that have to be sifted through while seeking the gems, and it was to this sifting pursuit of a readership that I had been sucked.

Then, just as the sound became a roar, a dear old friend commented to me, “I get the feeling that we are the only ones in this crowd who have any rural living experience. And we're probably the only ones over 35, too! Dreadful thought, eh?” And at that moment I knew my foray into Bloggerville was off course. I could hear my life in that place where you can almost see the end of the world calling me back. Yes, I’d love to have people read my tales and see my photos, but that’s not what I had set out to do with my blog.

I turned for the exit gates of Bloggerville, but perhaps not quite ready to leave, I made one last visit to Dirk’s site http://jestersrap.blogspot.com, the place where it had begun. It was the same exciting technicolor lay-out that it had been yesterday, but to my surprise, Dirk Star had been replaced – on this day – by Dirk B., husband and father-to-be. His “voice” was noticeably different than Mr. Star’s. Sure, there was some wit carrying the seriousness along, but this was the heart of the real man speaking.

I stopped. Perhaps I shouldn’t leave Bloggerville after all. Perhaps I could regain my true voice and intent without saying goodbye to those here whom I’ve come to care about. I am a wizard wizened by time and experience, by the woods and the lakes and the animals of the forest; I have worn a business suit, and I have driven a firewood truck. I am a gardener, a carpenter, a stone mason, a handyman; an editor, a photographer. I am passionate in my loves and my hates. I am an actress, a musician, and yes, I am a comic. I have watched Death and I have given life. Can I remain true to myself in this place?

I listen intently, but I can no longer hear it: the sucking sound is fading away. My decision is made. I will stay, but I will place the seriousness of my original intent above the temptations that Bloggerville offers, writing first and foremost for myself and for my children’s children. Sigmund and I will occasionally still make our trek to the taverns of Bloggerville (I just can’t help myself...), but mostly the Wizened Wizard will write her memoir far from the madding crowd. Will you still visit me sometimes?