dianaschnuth.net is never going to become an internet giant. It’s never going to earn revenue (or at least, not of job-quitting calibre). Hell, it’s probably never going to get even 100 hits a day on a regular basis.
It’s just an excuse for me to write almost-daily. Who knows if I’d still journal if I didn’t have my blog?
I have volumes of journals dating back to when I was seven years old. Most of my life is documented in journals of one form or another, be they bound volumes of lined paper in fuzzy bookcovers, stacks of notebook paper with single metal rings holding them together, or electronic text files. The years that aren’t documented seem almost lost to me. The important events that I skipped over sometimes seem hazy in my memory. Then there are memories that I’d completely managed to push into the farthest corner of my subconscious and had almost forgotten, but were documented at the time, and later read and remembered.
This is really just an open journal. For you, and for me. For you, so you can laugh at my funnies and muse with me about stupid shit. For me, so I can look back later and remember what it was like before [insert major life event here]. The only thing that differentiates this from what I would write for myself alone is that I can’t (or won’t) go off about any particular person for any particular reason. The internet’s a big place, and a potentially permanent one, and I don’t need people (or their friends or family or bodyguards) coming to me years later, after I no longer have a beef with them. Or while I still do.
I don’t make a concerted effort to always be witty, or to have a great punch line, or even to maintain coherent structure in my entries. I try to effectively get out what’s in my head. If you like it, that’s cool. If all I’ve got to say is, “Man, I’m really in a mood tonight,” then I’m just going to say it and not put some sort of interesting spin on it for my readers. I’m not Dooce or Wil. I’m just me.
My English teacher, Mr. Falls, wrote in my 8th grade yearbook something along the lines of, “Like a world-class athlete, a writer like you should write every day!” Well, Mr. Falls, here I am. Getting it out of my head. Trying to express myself. My fiction has gone by the wayside (dusty and neglected, but not forgotten), but my little essays about my life keep on keeping on.