I've long been conflicted about whether to post my writing on my blog. Not my light writing- something like the Lorax I can show to anyone, anytime. This is because I'm not particularly attached to it. It's something fun to write, it's nothing. But there are also things that are a little more... literary.
I'm tempted to post this stuff because it might make for a more interesting blog, because it'd be interesting to see how it's reacted to, and because...because my blog ought to be everything that pops into my head, and my writing is part of that.
The reason I'm reluctant to post is that I have an almost morbid reticence about showing my writing to anyone. Not because it's so deep and searing and reveals parts of myself that I am reluctant to show. But...but I'm not sure why. I think that a lot of it has to do with the fact that when I was younger and stupider (around 10) I thought that I could write poetry. Heck, I thought that I could write just about anything and the results were always clever and brilliant and so forth. Just the memory is like chalk on the blackboard of my soul. I recall one poem with the timeless line, "Sunrise, sunset, caught in time's endless net." There was another talking about the seasons as if they were people and thinking it was clever to be doing so.
Someday, I'm almost certainly going to look back on anything that I write now with as much chagrin as I look at these fourth-grade efforts. I hope that I do, because it will mean that I have improved. But to expose them in the meantime to other people's eyes...people with real taste...people who will know all of the pretentions that I inflict upon my writing....it's a frightening thought.