The Editor Within

I finally got to see my old mate Jason from Bermuda this weekend. He's been going through a hard patch of some serious shit the likes of which I cannot even imagine. He needed a break, and a lady friend of his from Canada, Laura, wanted to see him, so New York made a good middle point. The bonus for me was a chance to see him.

We were at dinner with them Friday night at my favorite local spot Hell's Kitchen. The trick for getting a table was to come late, which happened quite accidentally for us. They came over for a drink at my apartment, and the drink turned into a drink or two, and then... We were having such a good time, I almost forgot about dinner. But things got even better at the restaurant.

Before leaving for the restaurant, I had shown Laura these pages briefly. Turns out she's an active diarist, but in the old-fashioned, analog way. This led to a conversation at dinner, about self-editing.

Laura strongly recommended the works of Robertson Davies to me. "Reading him has changed how I write," she told me. "I'm a much better diarist now." Definitely has me curious, and everyone knows my writing can use all the help it can get.

At first I advocated the position that a private, unpublished journal offers a safe harbor of expression. Why self-edit if no one is going to read it? And true enough, both her and Jason pointed out that someone, someday could read it. The impact of those words, even in that hypothetical case, can weigh on the author, and effect the writing.

Conny and I both volunteered that our writing is definitely effected because of our readership. As obvious as that statement is, sometimes I have to step back and appreciate just how much it's effected. What started as virtual notes shoved into digital bottles and cast out onto an uncaring Internet has turned into a tangled, incestuous web of relationships. Like a family, these connections can provide comfort and joy, and great aggravation too.

It is hard for me to find a balance in all this. Between a desire to honestly pursue issues as openly as I have strength for, I also cannot abdicate my sensitivity for those I care about. I find myself far too fallible to ever hide behind the idea of "truth telling" as a license. I would rather try to document my internal struggles than to skip to simplistic conclusions, which are probably wrong anyway.

At their best, these pages make me a very accountable person, something which is good for me. They ground me, make me more aware of who I am. But that doesn't come without continued effort. As my life changes, and the people around me change, old boundaries are replaced by new ones. The learning process starts all over again.
posted 11:44 PM | link |