Wednesday, October 15, 2008

The Rart Stuff

Just scrolled down and saw I didn't get arse-fucked around to finishing my Tassie story...

*considers it*

Yeah... that shit has gone stale in my brain now... there's some stuff I know you kids would've gotten a hoot out of.. stuff that happened that I should blog. But I can't be arse-fucked.

There's just a little something I think I need to address, seeing as I seem to be getting so many more hits these days (used to average a couple a week if i was lucky, now average that on most days). I began this blog to serve no other purpose to me but to act as my punching bag on which to both vent, but also to practice. Practice the writing I was told I had potential in but would end up in a gutter somewhere if I didn't work my tits off at it.

Since I've been about 14 years old I wrote pretty much everyday; it began as my only way to vent the hell that was eating away at my insides. Soon it was my only coping mechanism; pages became the only place I could scream, cry, laugh and dream. While my exterior gradually closed further and further in on itself by interior was still able to clutch onto some small aspect of feeling alive even though I felt so dead.

The journals from back then I still have, but I can't read them. I get a childish joy about flicking through the pages and seeing my young self's writing scrawled across every square inch of paper, but I can;t read the words. I don't know how that wound can still be so raw. I believe that time can heal all wounds, but I wish there was some kind of manual on how much time is needed for the intensity of each traumatic experience.

But through that shaky start I started writing as a habit. A habit I needed to be able to function in the everyday world. Using the paper as a means of feeling the opposite of how the world and the people in it made me feel. Writing was the only thing that ever gave me a voice. I'd be able to sift through my torrent of thoughts and extract an articulation of things that astounded even myself. The paper showed me what I was capable of, gave me hope of something bigger than what I currently was. Through the writing and no other aspect in my sad life I ever so slowly grew.

But the more you write the more critical you seem to get of it. Critiquing the words before they're even on the paper. Some days wanting to write so badly but being haunted that what you have to say isn't good enough as though you are writing for someone else.
That is a downfall of blogging. What begins as a means of writing, showcasing what you have to an indifferent audience to gather unbiased, honest views slowly deteriorates into writing for the audience. Thinking about them in every word. Thinking about how many hits you'll get for this post, how many comments. Whether this will be the post to launch you into blogger stardom (aka being on a lot more blog rolls).

I admit that I fell into that trap for a short time. But I think I've successfully shaken it now. I like my blogs to ramble and make little sense. While I don't necessarily want Rusted Gumption to sink into the endless black hole of forgotten blogs, I don't like having a big readership. I can crap on till the cows cum (Pun Fun!!!) about 'writing for myself, not caring what anyone thinks, yada yada yada', but the truth is, while I might generally think that now, some time down the track on a lot more 'favorite's' lists I'll be more aware of my popularity and shy from the raw honesty that has made Rusted Gumption what it is, what I'm proud of.

So to sum up, what I'm getting at, I think, is this. If you are looking for some examples of intelligent, finely crafted, planned blogs, check out my blog roll (yes that includes you Bo), because what I write here I don't write to fit into any of those categories. I use this blog the same way I used those pages back when i was 14. To waffle, ramble, spurt and practice fucking practice. To vent the fucking shit out; being blunt as a brick and as raw as a fly-blown sheep's arse crack.

I don't expect many people to read what I write all the way through, because if they did it'd mean I was doing something wrong (by my own standards anyway).

So I guess that's what I was trying to get out, I think. Or was it? Yeahh.... bugger that thinking too hard crap, I've me some brain cells to go waste.. *runs away*

19 comments:

unique_stephen said...

I read books to read literature.
I read blogs to get into other peoples heads, lives and engage with people who are extraordinarily normal.

willow said...

I've read what you've written all the way though. Not out of pity, self-importance, or nosiness; but out of intrigue and awe. The words pique an interest born, i imagine, from your ability to articulate what's in my own head.

so that makes two of us whose minds work in a similar way.

and that's fucking weird.

fingers said...

Um, excuse me Ms Hemingway but you have two comments prior to mine.
One from 'Unique', who would go to the opening of an oyster, and one from your sister.
It might be a little premature to modify your blog-style in deference to the massive world-wide exposure you're getting...

Lana said...

On our rags today Fingers?

fingers said...

I just don't want you to get carried away with success and lose that fresh, raw edginess...

Lana said...

Like the way sucess has made you a stuffy, uptight anal prick? Or were you like that before your success?

fingers said...

Hmmm...someone's missing the point.
Hope it's not me...

Bo Bo said...

Babe try not to get too caught up in this blogging caper. Write what you want to write and if people read it then it’s a bonus. I too fell into the trap of writing for the audience and in the end it just doesn’t feel right. Write for you and nobody else.

Now do I take your reference to me as a good thing or bad?

Lana said...

Willow- And your next blog will be written...when??

Fingers- yeh I'm totally going to just show my age here. *finger*

Bo- good thing. Now don't rub it in. I hate being nice to you.

P.S- your latest blog- can't help feeling that it was a complete load of shit?

Bo Bo said...

I don’t write loads of shit my dear.
You might want to get out and experience the world a little bit before you pass judgment based on all your 19 years experience on this planet with the majority of those years living in a desolate country town, where the most exciting thing to happen is winning the weekly meat tray at the pub and getting fingered by a local farm boy up against the electric cattle fence.
A boozy trip to Tasmania without the parents will not give you the life lesson you obviously need. Your life needs to come out from under that shelter if you’re going to live a fruitful existence.

Lana said...

Didn't realise you were so touchy Bo. And yeh, massive double standard going on there in your comment- I lost count over the amount of mass generalisations you just made. At least my excuse for saying things without thinking is the fact that I'm 19. What's yours?

Bo Bo said...

I’m with Fingers on this one

I think someone is missing the point and I hope it’s not me.

Lana said...

The point being that you think I'm some country hick who has no right to assume that ANY of your posts are even slightly exaggerated because I'm 19 so must therefore be incredibly naive and ignorant of the world??

Meanwhile Fingers thinks I shouldn't be making posts about being influenced by readers that I don't actually have???

Oh no I got both those points, but I think that both of you have entirely missed MY point. SO I don't see why I should be paying any attention to the points you two oh-so-wise and oh-so-insightful bloggers of the world are trying to 'teach' the poor little uneducated 19 year old that is me and when you couldn't even comprehend my own point.

Bo Bo said...

You have a point?

Lana said...

Yeah Bo, think you chose to ignore it in favour of showing off that petty little display of yours cut straught from some porno parody of 'McCleod's Daughters'.

Lana said...

Oh yeh and just realised Bo- You just admitted in writing to the fact that YES, YOU were the one after all that was MISSING THE POINT.

*dusts hands*

Bo Bo said...

Display?
McCleod’s Daughters?
What on earth are you on about woman?

fingers said...

Lana, the producers of 'Farmer Wants a Sociopath' want to know if you're available for the 2009 series...

Lana said...

Glad you found another leg to stand on guys...

Cool, I'll be the farmer and you can apply for the sociopath Fingers. We farmers have gotta use something to finger that milk out.