Editor’s Note by Elizabeth Langosy
Online Writing Is Seductive
Truth be told, I’m a very private person. I don’t enjoy being in the limelight, it took me forever to sign up for Facebook, and I’ve never wanted my own blog.
So how have I found myself in the very public position of exposing my personal thoughts and experiences in Talking Writing? As with many of the writers in this issue, I didn’t fully realize I was doing so. Online writing is seductive, whether you’re blogging, commenting, or, in my case, writing the Editor’s Note for your own magazine.
I’m amazed by how blithely I pull together my opinions and experiences in order to enthrall my audience. Well, what audience there may be. Part of the freedom of online posting comes from knowing that only thirty people may bother to read what I’ve written…or fifteen…or two. I’m not being published on the front page of the Times.
Maybe the audience is really just me—and, hey, I deserve a little love and respect.
So I let myself go, responding to another person’s comment a bit more vehemently than I would have, say, in person. Or writing a TW piece that’s a tad more personal than the update I submit for my high school reunion.
Then, all of a sudden, I’m “Looking Through Keyholes”—as Jonathan Wolfman describes in his theme essay for our March/April 2012 issue. After rereading a slew of essays and blog posts he’s published online over the past five years, Jon says:
“I was stunned to discover that at least half my pieces reveal personal parts of my life and/or the lives of family members, friends, and former students—information that, knowing myself, I’d never be inclined to betray outside of my writing, not even to longstanding friends.
My stun moment came when I proudly showed a close friend my Editor’s Note for TW’s November/December 2011 issue. The piece reveals (among other things) my mother’s unimaginative method of meal preparation and the fact that I was never taught how to cook as a child.
My friend read the piece without comment. Eager for the love and respect I assumed would come my way, I pressed, “So what do you think?”
That’s when she blurted out, “How can you write those things about your family?”
I didn’t know how to answer. I just…did. It made sense for that issue theme, which was about how writers incorporate food into their stories. And what I’d revealed didn’t seem very scandalous.
But she got me thinking about how I’d reached this point of personal exposure.
Privacy—and its breach—is prime fodder for writers, as is shown by many of the pieces in this issue. Martha Nichols writes about the hidden perils of an online life in My Search for Solitude in an Online World.
In The Rubber Band King, Carolee Bertisch describes what she learned about her father—and herself—while going through his personal effects after his death.
Even our March/April poets address issues of privacy, although we didn’t plan it that way. Here’s the opening of Gail Entrekin’s powerful poem, Also:
Under lock and key, my daily secrets:
Our writers also address the value of letter writing, the unexpected rewards of blogging, and how a wide-open space can sometimes provide the most seclusion.
There’s no doubt that the Internet has collapsed the historical chasm between public and private life into a fine line that’s easily crossed. The repercussions vary for each of us.
Take my own resistance to Facebook. Three years ago, I had yet to join. In the same way that people think of Costco as a place where you can buy nothing but jumbo-sized bottles of condiments, I’d dismissed Facebook as a place that consisted solely of updates on the most mundane aspects of everyone’s day: “I let the cat out and made a bagel. It tasted a little stale.”
Then we launched Talking Writing. One of our editors set up a TW Facebook page, which I eventually offered to maintain. That meant I needed a Facebook account.
Once I finally got there, I began to feel excited about Facebook. I envisioned connecting with all my writer friends. I imagined posting that I’d drafted a new story and getting a zillion “Likes.” I would feel so loved!
Well, yes…for the first few months. Then, although my roster of friends was growing, the comments on my site decreased to almost nil. And that’s how it has remained, though I do my part by “liking” other people’s updates and commenting on their photos and responding to their requests for information about reliable cell phone service and wishing them happy birthday.
I wondered what I was doing wrong. I even agonized a little, until I realized I just don’t have a very active Facebook life. I update my status a couple of times a month. I’ve only posted photos once.
Nonetheless, I’d expected my buddies to stop by my page every now and then just to see what’s going on. They must not be interested in my online life, I reasoned. And if they don’t bother with my Facebook page, they won’t bother with TW either.
That means I can write whatever I want.
How do you like that rationale? I just came up with it. One of the great things about the online world is that you can be a philosopher and a theologian as easily as the next person. And you can express your new and fascinating thoughts whenever and however you like.
After realizing how much I’ve revealed online, will I change what I write about in Talking Writing? I’m not sure. But now that I’ve waded into the seductive waters of free expression, something tells me I’ll never return to shore.
Table of Contents for the March/April 2012 Issue
Art Information
- “Bay Window,” “New Town/Old Town,” and “Pinwheel” © Lois Shelden; used by permission
Elizabeth Langosy is the executive editor of Talking Writing.
“I arrived at college with a severe food impairment. I’d never heard of bagels or lox. Pizza? Um….a tilting tower in Italy? Chinese food? Canned chow mein!" — "It's My Party, and I'll Eat What I Want To"
