I’ve been thinking about the direction that I want this blog to go in for a few days now. My posts have been sporadic, though my life has not been lacking in events to mine for content. Indeed these last few weeks have seen the marriage of my dear friends to eachother, my decision to give it another go with my ex, my anxiety over doing so, and my contemplation about going back to grad school (in light of more layoff rumors). But, I haven’t felt compelled to talk about any of this really.
And today I think I figured out why. The Pursuit of Harpyness had a post today about this article in the Guardian (how I love the Guardian) detailing our cultures recent obsession with self-obsessed females: specifically, female “journalists’” confessionals. “I got a boob job,” “I am alone and miserable,” “I hate my aging neck,” ad nauseum, type journalism.
It’s true, we’ve become saturated with it. Reality shows offer too many glimpses into way too much detail of people personal lives, and we all can’t help but look… like rubber-neckers on a freeway. And I hate it. And I don’t want to be a part of it. But somehow, “memoir”-style writing has become synonymous with the TMI-confessional.
So, what to do about this blog, which was an attempt for me to get back into a daily writing ritual, mining my personal life for content, writing memoir-style posts, as an alternative to the dry health journalism I do all-day, everyday for my 9-5 job?
The answer, I think, is a hybrid of mining my life, but not necessarily in such gory detail, and mining the blogs, news sites, and various events that my life revolves around, and discussing them, for my, and perhaps any lurking readers’ enjoyment.
So, California Poppy is a work in progress. But a work I do want to commit to. We’ll see where we go from here…
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