Last night, I was told that I no longer rant on this here rant-blog of mine.
Yep. A devoted reader who has been with me from week one of my creative trip (or tripping) has admitted the following: Were he to join my readership now, he would view me very differently from the hot-tempered, opinionated, loud-mouthed, pain-in-the-ass, pro-woman woman that began doing her rant-blogging two-thirds of the year ago.
“You sound like a writer now,” he said, lingered a bit and added: “But I would still want to ask you out though. Maybe even more so!”
“You used to sound so angry, almost bitter,” another one granted his opinion, the other day. And then, he did actually ask me out.
True that: What started this project originally was my decade-long participation in gender wars (and I’m not really sure mine was winning). But having never published on the topic of dating before, I had a lot to unload.
Now: I’ve been writing — for years! I’m talking as soon as I could make sense of the Russian alphabet (which is NOT an easy task). Later on, after attempting to master the English alphabet (a slightly easier task), I would begin writing for cash. It was mostly criticism, at the time; but with the exception of my editorial bits for the college newspaper, I rarely indulged myself in publishing my rants. And as far as relationships went, all that stuff was being kept secret in my journals. (Speaking off: Where the hell are the ones from high school? Oh, boy!)
Before embarking on this year’s project of blogging, as a devout nerd that I am — I first did research. A shit load of it! For hours, I would sit in front of my aged computer and measure myself against the blogosphere full of other opinionated — talented or just loud-mouthed, or both — writers. Could I really do this? At the time, I was at the beginning of a new relationship, so I thought what better way to introduce my inner workings of a nerd to my partner. In a way, I was flaunting the side of me I was no longer willing to tame: I’m a writer. Deal with it!
And from the shit load of my research, two particular pieces of advice got branded into my nerdy brain:
One: You must publish on a regular basis. Your readers expect it.
Two: Make sure it’s authentic — to you.
It made sense. The entire purpose of my public coming-out as a writer was to seek my readership. Before entertaining my entering the blogosphere, that readership was a mere daydream of mine: It would have to happen in an old-fashioned way, after years and years of working on my manuscript — and then a few more years of trying to sell and finally publish that thing. A career of a blogger, however, promised to give me a shortcut: The process of publishing seemed instantaneous.
However, back in those days, even I could not have predicted that there was nothing instantaneous about it: I don’t know about the other talented or loud-mouthed colleagues of mine, but each day, it takes anywhere between four to five hours to write, continuously edit, post, repost — edit, again! — and promote the damn thing. It’s a shit load of work!
But then again, I knew that dedication would not be scarce in me. As for the authenticity, I had to make sure that the topic to which I devoted these four to five hours a day would be exciting enough to ignite my passion. And because I generally don’t half-ass anything in life — neither in art, nor in relationships — I knew I would have to write about it every day. Because that’s why I was entertaining entering the blogosphere in the first place, right: for the instantaneous readership?
What topic could be more exciting than love, I thought. And even then, I knew that by love I meant a state of my soul — not a tedious or confusing chase of the opposite gender while fighting these frustrating gender wars, in which I myself was definitely NOT winning. At first, I would start writing about dating and would hope that all of the other subjects of my love would follow. (They did.)
The very first story I instantaneously published was a bit inspired by my dating experience as one man’s rebound. Some of it was fictionalized (um, about ten percent of it); and the rest — was pathos, which was true to the rebound nature of that relationship. And right off the bat, I wasn’t mellow in my writing. No: I was hot-tempered and loud-mouthed. Having written the piece years ago in my journal, I began amending it for my readership (i.e. molding it into art). But even then, months before I would finally publish it, I began to be aware that the driving force of my writing was not just love — as a permanent state of my soul — but compassion.
Because in actuality, what made me a writer in the first place was my life-long fandom of the human race. That’s what all those tomes and tomes of journaling had been about. And long before I would become a writer — and even longer before I would become a blogger — I was a devout reader: A nerd. I studied humanity, devoured tales of its nature. And in those tales, I always managed to find some hope, and plenty of love.
Two-thirds of the year later, the style of my writing has indeed changed. I no longer rant on the topics of dating, and I especially no longer attempt to write about relationship advice. Look: I am not an expert on that. I’m just a toy soldier in this silly, frustrating fight between two camps of lovers. But what I do have some expertise in — is living a life of compassion: A life driven by a loving spirit.
And speaking of love (for the sake of my instantaneous readership still interested in asking me out): Yes, I am a single woman. I am a hot-tempered, opinionated, loud-mouthed pain-in-ass; disciplined, hard-working writer whose greatest subject — is love. Neither in my private nor public life do I disguise it: I’m an artist. Deal with it!
And even though I anticipate that with this year’s coming-out as a writer, I had made my dating life even more complicated and frustrating, the actual loving — has gotten easier. After all, I practice it every day, in my writing. The art has gotten easier as well; and there is nothing I would rather do, on a daily basis, than to write four to five hours — in pursuit of my DAILY, instantaneous readership.