Originally, I started this blog because I was preached at about the importance of developing a writer’s platform and all that. Everyone within a 5-degrees-of-separation radius of me already knows I’m not the writer’s advice following, “tell about your morning in chronological order using each first letter in the musical scale” exercise writing, all-forms-of-annoying-social-network plugging (where no one remembers their login name in six months)-type person. No really, it’s true. That, and maybe I’m a tad too critical of the above advice in the first place.
But I like blogging. I mean, I really like it. So, I’ve had to find a balance between blogging and storytelling the way I think it should work ideally. Sometimes I spend too much time with my blogger-side and neglect my story-writing side. When this happens, I suffer a sort of separation anxiety. It’s like living life in shallow breaths. The currents of unrest seethe until I turn into the writer-withdrawal version of The Hulk and roar my ireful frustration to the world–or to someone unlucky enough to be nearby. That’s just how it is. My fiction-writing side rocks off its axis when I’m not lost in my plots regularly. Plus, my stories get lonely. They need to spend time with me.
I think I understand why many authors chose to release their work posthumously. It wasn’t because they were afraid to connect. They were trying to prioritize their time. They were the ones who worked without the platform, so they didn’t have the accolades and critiques of their peers ringing in their ears to tempt them into neglecting their work. In some ways, I think they were smart.
But they are dead.